HOME
by robspace54
Summary: Louisa returns to Portwenn from London six months after the non-wedding and finds that things may not be as she assumed, wished, or prayed for.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Here

John the barman climbed the creaking stairs ahead of me with my case in his hand, and it was all I could do to keep my eyes focused on the treads as I followed and not turn to face the stares behind me.

But I didn't have to look. I knew what the patrons of _The Crab and Lobster_ were thinking as shown by shocked expressions when I came into the pub. I saw amazement, shock, hands held to mouths, and the beginning of dancing eyes, and snickers as well. I could only smile at them, say hello, down some water, then follow John with a lame excuse of being tired. I could also swear I heard the thump of a body hitting the floor as I went upstairs.

John took me down the hall to room number three and unlocked the door. "This one alright?" he asked.

I stood in the doorway and looked about. The room was small but cozy. Not much larger than my bedsit in London, the one that I was renting for only seven more days. This room held a reasonable size bed, a wardrobe, with a mirror on the wall over a dressing table and a stool. Two lamps, one by the bed, the other next to a fuzzy green overstuffed chair would light the place when the sunlight from the medium size window failed. The walls were covered by a striped green wallpaper and the doorframes, like the door, were ancient oak.

"Yes, John. This will do fine. Just fine." I tried to make it sound like I meant it.

He put my case on a folding stand by the wall. "Need anything? I mean…" he waved his hands in an apparent embarrassed muddle. "Food… or drink, you know."

I went to the bed and sat down. My bottom didn't compress it much and the springs didn't creak. "This is fine." I ran my hand over the white crocheted coverlet. "Nice stitching," I began. "Your mum made this?"

John ducked his head. "Yeah, she did. Most of the rooms…" his eyes strayed to my watermelon belly then looked away. "Bathroom is down the way." He pulled open a door to show a tiny sink and toilet in the room. "This one has fixtures, here though."

"Great!" I tried to smile but it was hard. "Awfully handy," I added.

He backed up four steps and bumped into the door frame. "Then, you'll take it." He dug a toe into the floor and looked away. "I can let you have for a special rate, Louisa. Even with the en suite loo. How long you planning on stayin' then?"

"Good question, John. But I'm sure the cost will be…" I thought of my small bank account, and applied a word I'd learned from Martin Ellingham, "acceptable."

"Moving back then Louisa? Here to Portwenn?"

I stood up and walked to the wardrobe and opened it. Five wire hangers and a dead moth occupied it. Turning to the left a vista of Portwenn harbor filled the window. Green ocean, a fishing boat under repair, and the dark cliff beyond that with gray and white cottages above it met my eyes. One cottage in particular grabbed my eye and I felt a tear run down my cheek.

I bit my lip. "Yes, John. I think so." I wiped my cheek and turned to face him, feeling the baby move as I did so.

He smiled. "Really great to have you back… I mean really great to see you… and all." His words puttered to a halt and his smile fell.

"Thank you, John. I'm glad to be here." I smiled at him as he handed me the key. Then he closed the door as he backed out.

I stayed motionless until I heard his footsteps retreat down the hall, and they got faster as he shot down the stairs. I crept to the door and opened it a crack and I heard the hum of conversation increase in the pub downstairs and _I knew who they were talking about._

The door clicked closed as I leaned on it and I blew out the breath I'd been holding since I got back to the village_. God, Louisa, this is a proper cock-up! If you wanted a slightly less dramatic entrance you should have hired a brass band!_

The bed was calling to my aching back, so I kicked off my shoes and lay down, and propped my head and back up with the three pillows provided. I twisted and turned, getting my dress and sweater back into order from the change in position_. I will never see a pregnant woman and not feel a pang of understanding ever again! _I knew from the feeling of pressure I'd have to use the adjacent loo quite soon. That will be handy.

Accompanied by little kicks and thumps inside me, I felt a headache begin behind my eyes, in time to my pulse. Another sigh came out and I chewed my lip.

"I'll take care of it, Martin." I mimicked myself. "God Louisa, you can be such an ass!" My eyelids snapped shut and a few tears leaked out. "And who the hell was that woman?"

The baby kicked and I put both hands to my belly. "We're home, little one. We're here!" I half shouted. "We're here!"

The baby slowed in response to my voice, or touch, or just the compression of his little cell as I lay there.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – There

I knocked on the kitchen door of the grey cottage. I could see a tall dark figure through the frosted glass of the upper door. It swung open.

"Louisa!" exclaimed the man in the dark suit and tie.

"Martin! Yes it's me!" I managed to say, trying to keep my expression happy and my voice light.

His eyes looked down at my bulging green jumper. "You're pregnant!"

I patted the side of my very pregnant belly. "Yes, I am!" still trying to hold a smile.

"Come in!"

"Martin, I know this is a bit of shock, but I wanted…"

He held out his hand for mine. I took it and he swept me into an embrace.

Standing there in the doorway I felt a bit the fool. "Martin…" I started to say but his arms about me did feel very nice and I couldn't say more as his lips met mine.

Time stopped for at least a few seconds. The baby kicked hard just then.

Feeling the little thump, he slackened his grip and the kiss ended. "It moved! My god…

"Of course, it moved. This is our baby, Martin, yours and mine."

I have seen many expressions on the face of Doctor Martin Ellingham, but this was a new one as he pulled me into the kitchen. I peered up at his face, now filled with a look that seemed to show shock, awe, bewilderment, surprise, as well as happiness all at once.

His lips twitched. "I… uhm, here…" he shoved me onto a kitchen chair. He towered over me as more weird emotions played out on his face. But then he straightened even more, backedup half a step and crossed his arms. "I thought… uhm, I thought, you'd be staying in London."

"Well, I'm here now!"

"Yes… need anything?" he said next. "Wine? No that won't do, Martin! Water then?"

"Yes, Martin a glass of water would be fine."

He picked up a glass and peered into the fridge. "Tap or bottled?"

"Tap, suits me."

"Alright." He filled it and set it on the table in front of me, then took the seat across the table.

"Well, Martin," I said, "how have you been?"

"Fine, I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "And you're…" he pointed to my belly.

I laughed and my hand flew there. "Yes, I am… we are."

He stood up, reached under the sink and took out a bottle of whiskey. He sloshed some into a tumbler and stood there by the sink, swirling the contents about as he looked at me. "I see. Obvious.

"Unexpected, I know, since we…"

"Didn't get married. I know." He lifted the glass towards his lips, looked down at it, sneered and clunked the glass on the counter.

"I didn't know you drank whiskey, Martin."

He pushed the glass of Dutch courage away then took two strides to the table, _this_ time sitting next to me. "Louisa, I…" he started to sway but faltered.

I touched his arm. "Yeah, me too."

"What do you want to do?"

I breathed deep. "I was thinking, that is, I wanted to ask you if I might stay here. I've got an interview tomorrow at Portwenn Primary. They have an opening for a part-time teacher."

His hand crept across the gap and covered mine. "Fine, that would be fine. Whatever you need… want."

"Do you mean that?"

His expression hardened. "Of course I mean that! Do you think I'd let you just walk away from my kitchen doorway? My God!"

"I really wasn't sure if that would be ok."

"Ok? Lousia… Yes, of course it's ok! Perfectly."

"Really?" I was amazed. Perhaps five-and-a-half months apart had mellowed the man. "So… I can stay then?"

He dropped from the chair, his knees crashing onto the slate floor, and threw his arms about me, his head pillowed on my belly. "Stay. I want you to stay!"

I ran my hand through his hair. "Of course, I'll stay…" His hair was silky and smooth, but as I rubbed, it turned into bumpy, nubby bits under my fingers.

"What the!" My eyes flew open at that odd feeling and I was lying on the bed of the room I'd just rented from John. I was lying on my side, with a pillow pulled tightly to me and the crocheted coverlet bunched in my hand. I sighed. Reality rushed in. I'd dozed off and dreamed.

I wasn't there, I was here. I rolled off the bed, rubbed my face and stumbled to the toilet, did what I _really_ needed to do, and washed my face at the tiny sink. My eyes looked haunted in the spotted mirror. I patted my face and hands dry and went to the window.

Night had fallen, the spring sky softening quickly to dusk. I'd last been home in October, two weeks after the wedding we did not hold. The lights were going up across the village, but _one, that one_, just there, attracted my gaze; a certain grey brick cottage with one light burning by the door.

What was I doing down _here_ and what was Martin doing up _there_?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Anywhere

I sat in the green chair and swung one leg over the arm as I usually did in such a chair. Huge mistake! My belly and back weren't too keen on such a move, sending shooting pains through my back and hips.

"Ooof!" came out as I swung my leg back into what seemed to be the required maternity posture – feet flat on the floor and back upright. I took a deep breath as I pondered my next move, and it wasn't about how to sit.

My mouth engaged and words came out. "Louisa, what are you going to do?"

"Well, I suppose I'll just get a bit to eat, have a nice lie-down later and go to the interview tomorrow."

"Just like that then?"

"Yes. Exactly like that."

"Well, it's getting late and you'd best be going to supper."

"Yes, you're right."

"So get a move on then girl and do it. Eat something!"

"Alright, I'll just go downstairs, then."

I stood awkwardly, feeling my shoulders naturally move rearward to counterbalance the weight of the baby. Martin could have told me the nearly exact proportion of the weight of fetus, placenta, uterus, various bodily fluids and extra breast tissue for a six month pregnancy. I did not know the distribution, but I did know that it totaled around eight-and-a-half kilos, or almost nineteen pounds as older people reckoned it, based on the last time I weighed myself. It felt like it was concentrated as a solid football just behind my disappearing belly button. Not painful, just uncomfortable; that is compared to my normal body.

I poked around on the floor with my feet and slipped my flats back on, brushed my hair and straightened the dress in front of the wall mirror, then went to the door. I opened it to the sounds of laughter and noise coming straight up from the pub. I went into the hall, pulled the door to, locked it and walked to the head of the stairs.

I tucked my lower lip between my teeth and decided to brazen it out. I felt certain that about half the women below would feel pity for poor pregnant Louisa Glasson. The other half would snicker a bit behind their pints; maybe even thinking they're glad it's not them. There may even be one or two who might be jealous and perhaps _one_ who might come over to me and offer a word of comfort or support.

And the men? Some would laugh, or look away, or even mutter things like 'that tosser Doc Martin,' or 'look what Louisa's got – does the Doc know?' Lots of thoughts like that poured into my head. I didn't think I get much sympathy from the men downstairs.

There was no doubt in my mind that most would properly put two and two together and know that this baby was Martin's. Oh, there might be a few that doubted the obvious, imagining this baby was from some London lothario.

I held the railing firmly and willed a leg to move and lower myself to the top tread. This happened after a minute or so, and I finally stood with one foot on the hall carpet, the other on the top step. I stayed right like that. My hands grasped the railings in white knuckle fear. My ears and eyes were on hyper-alert waiting for a step below or a voice to head my way.

I knew an awful lot about the gossip of villages. In London I was one of the faceless masses, just another pregnant woman in the tube or on the street. Portwenn has 936 residents, well, 938 if you count me and this baby. The too many times I faced nasty things said about my mum and dad flew into my mind.

Mum had run away when I was about twelve. Some thought it was my fault or my dad's, and they might have been half right. Yet mum had her own silent ways of letting me and dad know that she felt trapped in Portwenn. The way she'd sigh when I asked for help with schoolwork, or dad was late getting home, or such. She even said aloud that she was trapped by me and dad both. Then one day - boom - she was gone.

Terry Glasson was no super husband or dad. His gambling was legendary and he had a reputation of being unreliable at the odd jobs he managed to pick up from time to time. His lifeboat fund money caper years later was just as I was going to university, and at least I only had to deal with the aftermath in dribs and drabs on school holidays.

Yet to this day, eighteen years later, people might have a sly look as they stated, "You're Terry Glasson's daughter…" and I knew what they were thinking; that I too was a thief and a gambler like dear old dad or a bolter like mum.

Now this. The tension as Martin and I had any number of calamitous dates, his unexpected proposal, the big build up to the wedding, that awful day when we called it off; and then I bolted to London. Now five-and-a-half months later, here I was, up the duff in spades, afraid to descend to a room filled with people that I knew. Because I knew, oh yes, I knew, how mean some people could be.

I don't know how long I stood frozen like that. Sweat broke out on my back and under my arms and breasts but when a salty drop slithered down my forehead and dripped in my eye that was the end of it. I snuck into my rented room and with my back to the door stood there as I gasped for air. My hands held in front of me were shaking, and my whole body took up the quiver.

The bed called to me, so I went. Two pillows went between me and the headboard as I laid back and the third I tugged against my face to deaden my bitter sobbing. Right then I would have given almost anything to be anywhere else.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Shepherd's Pie

Much later I came out of my crying jag and was absolutely exhausted. I knew my eyes were all puffy, nose all red, even without looking, and the poor pillowcase was much the worse for wear. A handful of toilet tissue cleaned most of the nasal filth off the pillow, but a lot of cold water was needed to get my eyes back to normal.

It being so uncomfortable to lean over the tiny sink, a wet washcloth soaked in cold water was the best remedy. Then the hiccups started. They lasted for quite a while, and by the time I'd repaired the facial damage, gotten my diaphragm settled down, and changed into a dry dress, the green one quite soaked with water, tears and snot, it had gotten very late. Being very sorry for myself and sitting for at least an hour quietly had also helped the evening go by.

The green dress would have to be washed, and having just a few outfits with me, I'd have to do laundry sooner than I'd expected. The blue print dress I struggled into matched my eyes perfectly, even with the dark shadows under them. My watch read 10:20 and it was quite dark outside. I pried the door open and heard no voices below. This was likely the time to go down.

I tiptoed below and only John Howe, the barman was there, cleaning up. Perfect, I thought.

"Oh, hello, Louisa! Everything alright? You must have really needed a nap, luv. It's been hours since you went up."

"Yeah. Well I was tired. Long train ride."

"If you're looking for supper, I'm sorry. Cook left about 9:30 and I don't think there's much fit back there. Want me to look?"

Ah, no dinner. "No, no. I'll be alright."

"You're sure? I can call the missus and ask her to throw something together for you."

"No, that's fine. I'm not really hungry. Think I'll just go for a walk then."

"A walk?" John threw the towel onto the bar. "A walk? No by god! You sit down right there," he pointed to a table, "and we'll do something for you. Right?"

"Ok." I sat down at the table and tried to relax but I was tense as a violin string.

John whipped out his mobile and dialed. "Maureen! Guess who's sitting in the pub. No! Not him! No, it's Louisa. Louisa Glasson. Yes! Yes? Who'd you hear that from? Never you mind that! Right... more on that later. Say, the kitchen's closed and she needs a meal…. You will? Of course. Kisses!"

He leaned across the bar and smiled at me. "She'll put something together for you. You just sit there; put your feet up if you wish. About ten minutes she said."

"Thanks, John. I really don't want anything special."

He came 'round the bar and flipped the sign on the door from _Open_ to _Closed_. "Now you can eat a meal in peace and not have people, all…"

"All?"

"You know. All gawkin' like."

"Right." I let out my breath. "Thanks."

"You are a guest in this here pub, and I don't want nobody sayin' that John Howe didn't know how to treat a guest. So there."

I nodded dumbly and as he bustled about cleaning the bar and the tables, carrying glassware to the back and so forth he was smiling. It was calming to see this pleasant man so busy, yet so happy at it.

In due time, the door banged open and John's wife Maureen came in bearing a basket covered with a cloth. I could smell something hot and delicious.

Maureen's face lit up when she saw me. "Louisa Glasson! So nice to see you back. This is about the job at the school, I hope! Not been the same since you left, you know. The new headmaster is…"

"Not now, Maureen! Let the woman eat, for god's sake. What did you bring her?"

Maureen set the flat basket on the table, whisked the cloth from it, and the delicious smell of shepherd's pie hit me like a warm blanket.

"Oh, that does smell wonderful! Maureen. I can't thank you enough… and it's been… a hell of day." I sniffed, and dabbed at my nose with the napkin.

Maureen set a steaming hot dish of mashed potatoes, ground lamb, peas, carrots, and onions before me, and then added two rolls and a pat of butter next to it. "There! Now you tuck into that and John will get you something to drink." She reached over and touched my belly briefly. Her eyes were smiling as she looked up. "Congratulations, Louisa!"

"Thanks… but who told you?"

The woman shrugged. "You know… little birds."

"Right."

John brought over a tray with three tall mugs, each filled with a pale yellow liquid.

"John?" asked Maureen. "You daft man, whatever are you bringing her?"

He gave us both a big smile. "Beer for you and me Maureen and _apple juice_ for Louisa. I'm not that daft, woman!"

We all laughed and Maureen rubbed John's arm affectionately.

So I picked up a fork and took a heaping mouthful of the comfort food. "Oh, gosh, Maureen, this is… so good!" I was hungrier than I thought and though my stomach was getting squeezed as my uterus grew, and my meals had been getting smaller, it had been so long since I'd eaten the whole portion disappeared quickly.

I mopped up the gravy and juices with the last bit of roll and leaned back. All the while the couple had been sitting there quietly, sipping their beers, smiling and obviously having a great time watching me eat. The last of the apple juice washed the roll down.

I wiped my mouth and leaned back. "Gosh, I was famished, but I'm really stuffed now!"

John looked at Maureen and she at him and then they both burst into laughter.

"Did I say that?" I chuckled. I shook my head. "Yeah, really."

John finally stopped laughing and wiped his eyes. "Maureen? Stop now! It was funny. But stop!"

Maureen was holding her sides. "Sorry, Louisa. Just…"

My hand had crawled to my belly and rested there. "Oh, yes! Stuffed and full as well!" This brought on even more peals of laughter.

Maureen reached over after we finally calmed down and squeezed my arm. "How are you, then Louisa? Doing fine?"

I patted the bulge. "Fine. Baby's doing well and if I can get the job at the school… I'll be even better."

"That's really fine," she replied. "I'm so glad to see you back. The kids, ours too, will be ever so glad when you're back where you belong."

"Right." Where I belong. Well at least these two cared. I brightened. "Thanks for saying that!"

Maureen stood, leaned over and gave me a hug, then podded john. "Come on Johnnie boy, up you get! Louisa needs her rest, and so do we."

John rose. "I'll just set these glasses behind the counter and we'll be off. Timothy will be down here in the morning layin' breakfast on, starting at seven. When's that interview at the school?"

"Nine thirty."

"Well, then, since I may not get back here until noon, best of luck, Louisa Glasson."

"Thank you John, and you too Maureen. I'm amazed how fast your made this meal for me! Hope I didn't steal anyone's dinner."

Maureen gave me a grin. "I fed the kids a lot earlier. And I had that waiting. That was John's dinner!"

John rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry, Johnnie, I can always scramble an egg for you! Goodnight Louisa." She bent and kissed my cheek.

John followed suit. "Goodnight Louisa…" he started then stopped. "Luck."

I stood and hugged him. "John I can't thank you enough."

He ducked his head and shook it. "My pleasure." As the door swung shut behind him, I knew that I had at least two people who were on my side.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – On Stage

Shakespeare wrote '_Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,' _and I certainly felt so much better after that great meal and a decent night's sleep. The Bard was right, and as I finished my toilet the next morning and prepared for the day, most of the concerns I felt last night were gone, or at least pushed well back into the recess of my mind.

I spent some time on my makeup, to make myself look, as well as feel chipper, younger, _lighter_, as well as ready for anything.

Timothy Gest, the pub's morning clerk, had laid out a rather nice breakfast buffet for the guests at The Crab and Lobster. I tucked into a hot porridge with whole grain toast slathered in fresh butter and orange marmalade, a glass of orange juice, plus a small portion of melon and raspberries and as I ate I felt ready to face the world.

Timothy stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Miss Glasson? I'm just bringing out a fresh teapot. Want some?" He was a tall skinny fellow, brown haired and beetled browed, about twenty, and about ten years back he was one of my students. A not that bright of a boy and his family was not well off. I knew he'd had few prospects until John hired him and I could see that the job had done wonders for him. He was quite chipper greeting the guests, clearing away, and pouring coffee and tea.

Timothy was a good lad and I remember him as a hard worker at school, even when the results didn't always meet his expectations. He'd shrug at those times as if to say, well next time.

"Sure. Thank you."

He flew over and filled my cup. "They call this a breakfast tea, but it tastes the same to me whether I drink it morning or afternoon!"

"I think you may be right."

"Don't you look nice today? I hear you're going up to the school for that position they have open."

The gossip telegraph was working well. "Yes, I am."

"That dress suits you Miss Glasson… and the uhm… congrats, by the way."

I'd chosen a green and white print with an orange cardigan, unbuttoned. The orange perfectly matched the spots in the centers of some of the flowers on the dress. Some might not expect that those colors would go together, but I thought they suited me. I was wearing my hair in a ponytail and it was very glossy today. I smoothed a wrinkle along the side of my abdomen. "Thank you and yes I am going to the school today. Hope to move back."

"So how did you find London?"

"Oh, you know… just London."

"Well, I'm certain Portwenn will suit you a lot better that all that bustle in the city. I can't stand the place, myself."

I nodded. "It can be a strain."

A group of tourists came downstairs just then and he excused himself.

I finished my breakfast and went to my room to brush teeth and use mouthwash. As I was gargling orange-colored Listerine I realized that if I lived to be ninety, I'd likely still be doing this every morning. I spat the residue into the sink and looked up after wiping my mouth.

"Thanks, Martin! Thanks a whole bunch!" His smarmy comments about dental and oral odors had sunk in, like it or not, the day after he'd performed emergency abdominal surgery on Peter Cronk and saved his life in the bargain in that rocking ambulance. _It was right then Louisa, old girl, right then, you knew that he… Doctor Ellingham… Martin was special. _A sighed escaped my lips.

I finished my preparations and picked up my handbag, taking one last look at myself, front and side, in the wall mirror. Hair looked great, makeup was perfect, the eyeliner and eyelashes well applied, and my lipstick was non-smeared. The dress and cardi fit me well, and my black flats had enough arch support so I could wear them for almost the whole day.

I looked good and I felt better. "Louisa, you can do this. Go get them!" I said to my reflection and the pretty pregnant woman in the mirror smiled back. I took one last look, front and side.

My hands cupped my belly. "And thank you too, Martin for this little person," I said and meant it.

Timothy saw me coming across the pub dining room and he walked me to the door. "Miss Glasson, break a leg."

"Why, thank you Timothy."

He smiled. "I remember when we did plays and skits in school, you'd always say that when we were ready to perform."

"Why, yes, I did. Didn't I? What were you that one year? Can't remember."

"I was Father Christmas, miss," he grinned then. "And the next year in the Christmas Pageant I was an angel."

"You must have been, what about ten?"

"Yeah, I was. Now as I said, break a leg!"

"Am I going onto the stage, then?"

He opened the outside door and kept smiling. "Yes, Miss, you are! Go through. And let me know how things work out!"

I stepped through the door into a brilliant Cornwall spring day and it felt like all the spotlights were shining on me.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Making an Entrance

As I stepped into the sunlight streaming down onto the Platt, the flat bit at the very bottom of Portwenn, I scanned the harbor, and a voice called out.

"Louisa!"

I shaded my eyes, and there was Bert Large on his restaurant terrace. "Welcome home!" he shouted and waved to me.

I waved back feeling a gush of goodwill from his words, wave, and beefy smile, all flooding onto me like warm water.

That made four - John and Maureen Howe, Timothy Gest, and now Bert. Four people who were _on my side. _Not of course that the rest, weren't exactly, but these four. They were with me, body and soul.

A couple of years ago when I started surfing lessons, the instructor made me wear a life vest, an orange awkward thing that could inflate if needed. The idea being if you fall, you pull the little tab, and compressed gas would fill it and keep you up. On top of the half-coverage wetsuit, I felt almost like I was in space armor and ready to face the Cybermen. Perhaps that was why I chose this sweater today. It was orange, and it did cover my chest, back, and arms. The wetsuit would be to be imagined.

Literally buoyed up by these thoughts I started the long walk up the hill to Portwenn School. As I turned the corner onto the slanted street, five members of the pastel tank top and sandal clad girl-pack were walking downhill to me.

Their expressions of surprise along with 'oohs' and laughter did not dent _my_ spirit. I only rolled my eyes and trundled on – a mass of determination – but I did give a little toss of my head, making my hair slash about like a cat's angry tail.

Someday, I imagined, they might remember this moment when they were six months preggers themselves. The girls were all at that peculiar stage of knowing where babies come from and the act and biology of it verged on the forbidden, nasty, and oh so _lustful_. Some day they might remember how they laughed at _Miss_ Glasson.

Could they understand right now that I _chose_ to keep this baby? Would they _get it _that Doc Martin was obviously involved with someone else and now out of the picture, and saying that _I was the mistress of my fate and __**not**__ him?_

In a very righteous manner I walked on actually putting a little bounce in my step. It felt good to stretch my legs after the long train ride and taxi trip of yesterday. And a walk up one of Portwenn's steep streets must be worth three times the length of an ordinary London street for cardiovascular conditioning. _Lord, Louisa you sound like Martin! _But I pushed him from my head and it was difficult.

I waddled past gift shops, the bakery, a couple of B&Bs, with a few tourists about, not nearly as many as would be here in summertime, but there were a few. A Belgian couple I recognized from the pub at breakfast waved to me and greeted me in very good English.

"Morning, madam," they said in unison and I smiled back at them, not having the heart to correct them on a _minor_ technical issue. No ring, no boyfriend, and no… husband, and very likely now not probable at all to get one.

As I climbed Fore Street I noticed that there was a bit of a parade feeling to the street. No banners or music, but an unusual number of shopkeepers and residents, just happened to emerge to wash a window or sweep a step or find that they just had to step out and examine a flowerpot or shutter.

Each one would glance quickly at me from afar, to see if it was true. "Is she really pregnant?" they all wondered.

Their quick looks would be followed by a longer one and then an even longer one, all the while pretending to get that last bit of dirt off the glass or the slate porch. If they all had x-ray eyes such as Superman I would have been fried a dozen times with blasting beams but my orange life vest kept my spirit floating above it all.

The bulging bow of my dress plowed through any waves of doubt I might have.

My flashing smile disarmed each one as I said "morning" or "good morning." I threw in a few "good to see you's" and a "hello" or two for good measure.

There was no way in hell that I'd slink about wearing a raincoat, not that a raincoat would cover this thing I was lugging about and it was getting larger every day and I could feel it. But I had resolved I'd not let this baby slow Louisa Glasson down. Not one bit. Bloody Martin Ellingham had better watch out. _Tosser!_

Finally I was at the school. I walked through the play yard, squared my shoulders and pushed open the door. The smell of the school – an admixture of markers, poster paint, and the weird wax the custodian used on the lino tiles, plus the scent of little children - filled my nose.

The school's front door swung shut behind me and I knew that the first act had actually begun.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – The Head

The school's head teacher, whom I'd not met, was a Mr. Strain. Sitting before his desk was a _real strain _as immediately we got off to a rocky start.

His eyes practically popped out of head when he saw the bump I was carrying and then he immediately put his foot in it when he said, "I didn't know you were married!"

I quickly told him I was _not_ married and that you _don't have to be_ married to have a baby. That took some of the wind from his sails. But they he went on about leave time and how he didn't see how the school could let me have time off when the baby came.

I had to go after him straight away. In no uncertain words I told him my baby was due during summer holidays, and I'd take those two weeks off, and no more. Quoting the law didn't hurt my case either, but it was very rude of me to have to say it that way.

Inside I cringed at my harsh and forceful words, not the thing to do in a job interview – a job I needed quite badly. And for that matter, this man was renting out my house! It was far too convoluted and bizarre.

My tone of voice made him speechless for quite a few seconds which was great as I found him almost as irritating as Martin, but in a more insidious and creepy way. There was gooseflesh on my arms and neck as I talked to the man and I was certain half of the sweat pouring off me was a natural reaction to this odd mustachioed and balding little man.

The feeling I was having was so much like the rapid exit I had from the London school it put me quite off. They'd not wanted a single, pregnant teacher to _pollute_, was the word, their students, parents, or staff. In other words I was fired, in spite of the very clear work place laws. But unless I was ready to file suit and have a protracted legal battle, it was pointless to fight or even protest.

And that is what brought me to my old Portwenn school office, to sit on the wrong side of the desk, being interviewed by Mr. Strain. Perhaps he wasn't so bad, I thought. He must have been adequate or the Board of Governors would not have hired him. Evil to him who evil thinks, Louisa. Didn't your dad say that all the time?

As he was went on about the children and the school and how I'd certainly know the ropes, I wondered how on earth they'd managed to find him when I left last fall? Of course Portwenn is remote and it must have been very hard to fill the spot on such short notice unless he was adrift from his last job. Yes, that _must_ be it.

Having solved that mystery, at least it satisfied me, I looked up and Mr. Strain had an odd smile on his face, which extended only halfway up his eyes. I do not know how that is possible, but he'd done it. I'm certain he had no idea he was doing it, and I was seconds from bolting from the office, the school, and the village itself, when he offered me the part time teaching position.

I quickly put aside my fears, smiled and took his hand, shaking it heartily. His palm was oddly dry and he barely squeezed my hand before withdrawing. Just as well, for his touch gave me the creeps.

I'd start the next day and that would give me just a few hours to catch my breath and try to come to grips with the changes that were whirling about me and in me, but at least I had a _job_.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – In the Wings

There was something familiar about the shadowy figure half-seen through the frosted glass of my kitchen door. My heart skipped a beat as I went to answer the knock and that is when everything changed.

I'd been thinking that I should leave Portwenn. There were plenty of patients, although whether or not they actually needed a GP's attention was problematic.

It was all so ordinary and boring and _empty_. There wasn't a waking hour that I didn't think of who was missing. And when I remembered that moment of loss, it centered on the retreating back of Louisa Glasson, wearing a white wedding dress, walking away from the surgery, and out of my daily life.

Encountering Edith Montgomery this week was quite a surprise. Our meeting provided some spark of interest, although having to intervene in Edith's planned treatment of Auntie Joan's friend was medically correct, as well as self-satisfying.

As I looked at Edith as she sat at my table with a wide-eyed look, having come to apologize, I found it _quite_ odd to be near her. The old Edith, the one I pursued so unsuccessfully in marriage years back, was hard-driven and very professional; too professional.

Strangely any romantic encounters we had then were by schedule; hers, not mine. That is when or if they happened, it was per her _appointment book_.

'How about next Thursday evening at 8:45?' she might suggest, which was very clinical as well as mechanical. I can't say such times were not pleasurable, but they certainly were not _spontaneous_. However I did ask Edith to marry although Auntie Joan and Uncle Phil could not abide her.

But now, she was here, within arm's reach. The old Edith seemed to be gone, left behind in Canada or California, or wherever she'd disappeared to after medical school. This person I knew slightly, less well than the old one.

All those years ago I would have jumped at her command, but now I found her to be slightly specious in her approach. Considering the nasty way in which I aborted her surgical plan, then having her here apologizing to me, did not quite ring true.

I opened the door and there stood my ex-fiancée. "Louisa!" I exclaimed.

"Hello, Martin!" she answered and gave me a tiny smile; her eyes filled with great promise.

It was so good to see her, but I was frozen in surprise. "How are you?" I asked but there was _something_ about her stance that was different. I looked down and saw a waist filling bump under her shapeless green dress. "You're pregnant!" I said as my eyes flew wide.

"Yes, I am!" she said with pride and touched her abdomen.

When I now see blood, saliva fills my mouth, my stomach roils, and perspiration breaks out on the palms of hands and feet. In a few seconds I am usually trying to hold back a stream of vomitus, rushing up my esophagus.

When I saw Louisa… well, I could breathe for the first time in weeks or months. I stood straighter and I felt a millstone of misery drop from my neck and roll away.

The sight of her pregnant form gave me a sense of wonder, tinged with panic. _My God, Louisa, what have we done?_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Biology

Sea turtles reproduce by mating at sea, fertilizing the eggs inside the female and then she lays her eggs in a nest that she has dug in a sandy beach. Then the female, I shan't call her a mother, covers the eggs and departs, permanently. The young are left to incubate on their own, hatching some weeks later, then the young must crawl from the nest and make their way to the sea, usually pursued by hungry predators. The female's part is quite short, being a mere producer of eggs, a repository of sperm, and an egg layer.

Birds follow similar patterns, being egg layers, but they build elaborate nests for their eggs, and sit on them to incubate the young, standing by to feed and teach their young to eat and fly. But similar to other egg layers, they do not carry their fertilized young inside them.

Female mammals, on the other hand, from whom we get our class name as the females have mammary glands, carry their fetuses internally from conception to birth. Pregnancy causes massive changes in the female's body and physiology to grow the unborn offspring via a placenta. Hormonal changes mediate growth and adapt the mother's body and brain for child-bearing, nursing, and child-rearing. All mammals then suckle their young after birth, after what may be a protracted gestation, and then care for the young until they are able to make their way alone.

I stared at Louisa's belly, inside of which is a fetus that bore half of my genes, and half of hers, or so she just told me. And in around three months, or so I guessed, after more tremendous growth, this baby would be born.

"It's ours, Martin… yours and mine!" she said. She'd also just informed me t_hat she had just dropped _by on her way. _To tell me before the village found out._

_Just dropped by? On her way? _

My faculties were still in shock and my natural reticence made not only words stick in my throat but my mind was blocked as well.

"Who's she?" she asked, indicating my evening guest.

"What? It's Edith," I managed to blurt out, not thinking to add that she is a colleague, a doctor, a classmate… a former lover. I muttered something like "Do you want to get married?" followed by a totally inane, "You're quite certain it's ours?"

Louisa then told me that it is ours, _no doubt_, and that she does _not_ want to get married.

"You know it's too late for an abortion," I inform her of the facts.

She flipped her head away a few degrees and pressed her lips together firmly. "I'm having this baby, Martin."

Interspersed with more of my halting and rather dense questions she told me that she will be staying at the pub since her house is rented out and that the London school had let her go.

"I didn't like London," she said, "and the school didn't like this." Her greatly enlarged abdomen spoke all for itself.

You should have married her, a little voice in my head started up. You should have married, you fool! She was pregnant when she left, and you know bloody well when this baby got started! If it wasn't mid October when you asked her to marry, and she said YES, it was in that next week or so.

_This is all YOUR FAULT, Martin,_ I thought. Her red and white bedroom in her house flashed into my head. Her bed and her flesh were… too tempting, too obtainable when she said YES to your proposal to marry. But you both were eager, so very eager, weren't you?

But that night… that night… our desire was fulfilled, but our lust was barely sated. Did we know what we accomplished that night or did we not _care_ for the consequences? Was that it? Just made love with abandon – with… joy?

What unspoken ordeals afterward did Louisa have to face in London? Stares, snickers, gossiping… and very likely not behind her back, either! Bloody people are no different whether in Portwenn or London, are they? Damn them! How that must have hurt her… Louisa.

"It's going to be fine, Martin. It's not your problem. Bye," she said, then turned and walked down the steps and off down the street, carrying her little case and a handbag.

Swaying a bit, almost swishing, like I've seen her walk off before. And the last time I saw her thus was on our wedding day, as she left the surgery; the day we did not get married.

But before I can unfreeze my mind and go after her, Edith was at my elbow.

"Is she from the village?" she asks.

I nodded my head like an idiot.

"Well don't do anything hasty. You don't have to rescue her. She's a grown woman – she's chosen to have her baby."

Words started to come to mouth to protest, but Edith spoke once more.

"Not that it's any of your business."

My business? Not _my_ business? I turned from Edith and faced downhill to watch Louisa make her way. She was all alone and it tore my heart from my chest. I wanted to scream, to cry, to chase after her… to do something… anything to stop her. Even to speak, but no words were possible.

Does Louisa really not want me to have nothing to do with her and the baby? Our baby?

But she said _it was __**not my problem**__. _

I thought of sea turtles. They meet on the waves, couple, and swim away. Is that Louisa and I?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – Problem

Pauline came into my kitchen the next morning wearing the white coat she affects when she is playing at phlebotomist and attacked me as I was drinking coffee.

We had words; about me, about Louisa, and where our former head teacher was now staying and the exchange was bitter, high toned, and rancorous.

Pauline finished by saying, "Just cos a woman's strong doesn't mean for you it's alright to take advantage; that's all I'm sayin'!"

I wanted to tell her to bugger off, to get another job, to get out of my sight.

She had just drawn blood on a patient and the filled sample vial was sitting on the table in a tray. I picked it up and stared through it, sloshing the shocking red contents back and forth. I began to gag, the coffee I'd just drunk suddenly trying to launch from my throat.

Edith had prompted me to consider moving back to London and those wheels had already started to turn, before Louisa came back to Portwenn. Trying to suppress the sudden urge to spew my stomach's contents brought splendidly to mind my dilemma. At the moment the coffee was uncertain where it would reside. The coffee would either be in my stomach or spewed across the table.

Like the coffee, I was facing a decision. I could stay in Portwenn, the backwater biscuit-tin town that it was, or try to reenter surgery, in London the center of the UK medical universe.

Any vile words I may have sent the way of Pauline were drowned by used coffee as it rushed upwards in my gullet. I breathed deeply, forced the stuff back from whence it came and tried to regain composure.

I placed the vial back onto the instrument tray and stalked from the room. Would I be able to train myself to withstand the sight of blood? I considered this as my throat burned from stomach acid and nausea lingered as I paused in the hall.

The unpleasant taste made me sneer and as Pauline brushed past me she snorted.

"Well, you don't have to look so sour, Doc. After all, Louisa is back now and that must mean _something_ to you!"

"Mean something? Mind you own business!" I snarled and tried to push past her but she turned on me.

"And her having that baby and all…"

"Quiet," I whispered, "there are patients in the uhm... now, Pauline, back to your desk!"

"Doc!" she whispered back at me. "What do we have to do to get you..."

"Get me to do what?"

"To see that…"

"To see what, exactly?"

She sighed. "Oh, never mind, then."

"Never mind what? Pauline. What the devil are we talking about?"

She looked me full in the face. "You really have _no_ idea, do you?"

"No, I don't! Now get back to work."

"Poor doc, poor thing."

I gave her a harsh look and pointed towards the waiting room and began to speak quietly and slowly. "I… want… you… to… get… back … there… and stop this inane…"

"Are you calling me stupid?"

Now who was stupid? I was arguing round and round with my office clerk, over… _Martin, you know damn well, what's going on!_

Pauline had her mouth scrunched up and nose wrinkled, but there was something in her eyes. In her eyes, was the same glint of – sadness or something – that Louisa showed last night.

My god, was that just last night? I ran back over the hours since our meeting.

Edith came at 6:30 and Louisa shortly after. Edith left just after Louisa did, so then I locked up, and tried to read the BMJ. But all the words flowed together into a tangled mass on the page. I threw it to the floor and went to bed, that is I lay on it, not that I slept at all.

All I could see in my mind's eye, through every wretched hour, was the face of Louisa, a pregnant Louisa, standing at the door, saying "Hello Martin!"

Her face was glowing, eyes bright with promise and teeth flashing white. There was not a hair out of place on her head, but lordosis of pregnancy, the throwing back of the shoulders to counteract the weight of the pregnant uterus, was well advanced in the sixth month.

Her bust line was not overly developed yet, but given time the progestin and eostrogen will change her breasts to facilitate nursing. Her lips appeared full, as well as her face, from the increased blood volume of mid-pregnancy, and unless she had worn heavy makeup, no mask of pregnancy across her cheeks or neck was visible.

The green dress and white cardigan suited her, and the flat soled shoes were sensible for a pregnant woman to wear. A pregnant woman to wear… a pregnant woman.

And she came to my house to see me, to tell me this wonderful news, I suppose and then things went so wrong. News that she must have thought wonderful and you foolish Martin Ellingham, _you_ drove her ship straight onto the rocks.

Louisa Glasson was pregnant. Louisa was going to have a baby; a baby that she and I conceived in October at her house in her bed. Our baby – my baby.

A baby started because I told Louisa I loved her and wished, no needed to marry her and she said yes. Then later we both said _no_, why? Because we were both afraid, I suppose.

I looked down at Pauline Lamb, her green eyes frustrated but now with a touch of concern in them. What did Louisa say?

I bared my teeth. "It's not your problem! Desk!" I shouted.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Action

James Mellinger and his wife Jen burst out of the consulting room. Mrs. Mellinger seemed to be taking their infertility in stride, although with her husband being so volatile and erratic I found it hard to conceive why she's want to conceive with the man. By the same token, why would Louisa want to make a baby with me?

Before I could do more than look up as he yelled at me in leaving, Pauline shouted. I could see she was holding the phone in her hand, likely gossiping away, I thought.

"Miss Glasson's got the job at the school!" came her cry.

Well that was one problem solved. At least Louisa could now feed herself.

As I reared back in my chair, I could see my Aunt Joan in the waiting area. She'd obviously just walked in. I went into the waiting area to drop off the patient note packet and I heard Joan being filled in by Pauline.

"Louisa Glasson's here in Portwenn! Came back yesterday, expectin'," I heard her say.

My Aunt Joan asked, "Expecting what?"

I waved a finger at Pauline surreptitiously to keep quiet, but it didn't work.

Pauline glanced at me but said, "A baby."

Dear sweet Joan turned with a confused face. "Martin?"

The fat was in the fire then. Joan followed me into the surgery and I immediately started to make apologies. "It's not my fault!"

Not that it mattered. Joan could see right thru the matter. That I was the father, this was my child, of course, there could be no one else, and straight away asked what I was going to do.

"She's got no family to speak of, her body is teeming with hormones, in three month's times she's going to have a baby on her own, I think she might be in a little trouble, don't you?"

My aunt is not medical doctor, but her vast experience of people and life in a small village would qualify her as a behavioral psychologist, counselor, and personal motivator from any school of higher learning.

I stammered and cleared the phlegm in my throat and answered the only way I could. "Yes!"

Joan stood calling, "Martin? Marty?" as I left her behind, telling Pauline I'd be out for an hour – hold the patients.

I knew what I had to do. If a child was choking on a bone in his throat, I'd apply the Heimlich Maneuver or if an adult suffered a coronary arrest I'd administer CPR and call 999. I have heard emergency workers describe launching themselves into a burning building or such without thinking to save a life. Such was my hurried walk; mindless, relentless, and hard charging action.

I put my pointy black shoes one after the other down Roscarrock Hill and then up Fore Street to Portwenn School. I decided to enter the school by the office door, perhaps being less noticeable by doing so.

I didn't see any one expressly looking at me as I scanned about before slinking down the back stairs to the school door and in. I had to speak to Louisa. There was nothing for it. If I'd been a weaker man I might have brought my aunt with me. But the adrenaline was rushing and my mind was made up. Louisa was in trouble and she needed me.

One or two nasty giggling children almost bowled me over as I stalked down the hall, not quite certain where Louisa would be. But she must be here. Making several wrong turns I caught a glimpse of her dark brown pony tail through a door and I propelled myself with abandon, thereby having to come to a screeching halt, hearing Mr. Strain the head teacher speaking to her in that very room.

He seemed to be partially questioning and hectoring her. Strange little man.

I thrust myself up against the wall outside the doorway, to remain unseen, needed to see Louisa alone. The plan backfired as the school secretary, named Molly, Lolly, Holly, or something came out dragging a small boy by the hand.

"Hello, Doctor Ellingham," she said, as she came through the door. She smiled sweetly, entirely ruining my plan, such as it was.

"Hello," I had to answer.

Strain and Louisa craned their necks as I was forced to expose myself. I was never very good at hide and seek anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – A Bell

To cover up my lurking about in the hall I sprang into the room and admonished Mr. Strain for missing his appointments. I found myself speaking over Louisa's head and she was clearly startled to be literally in the middle of this unexpected medical meeting.

I was verbally dancing about as how could I explain what I was doing skulking in the school near mid-day?

I broke a cardinal rule to never discuss patients in public and told Strain, "Your test results have come back, and they're clear."

"Well that is good news," said Mr. Strain. He almost smiled.

"Constipation, still a problem?"

Louisa turned up her nose, saying "I'll leave you to it," and marched away into another classroom.

"Eleven days now," went on Strain.

I said what I had to say to forestall any further chat with Strain about bowel movements and chased after Louisa. "Call my office for an appointment!" I shouted behind me.

There is a fable about a large group of mice who have a meeting and are trying to decide what they should do about a cat that had been preying upon their community. After much unfruitful discussion they agree for the need to put a bell about the cat's neck so they will have a warning to run away and hide as the cat approaches. Yet one question is left lingering. "But who will bell the cat?" This would require a daring mouse to do the deed. The risk of failure would be quite high and of course no mouse was up to the task. Thusly ends the fable.

Louisa was picking up markers when I found her. I felt like that mouse attempting to place a bell on the cat's neck, and a very lovely neck it was.

Marching to the school I had formulated a vague idea how Louisa and I could talk this out. She needed help, surely she'd agree with me there. She needed a place to stay, the pub being convenient but expensive. And there was the matter of medical care for her. With the baby's birth not far away, she'd need to be screened and scanned to ensure the baby and she remained healthy. I would be able to help her on all fronts.

I could help her with living expenses as my personal needs are small. She could stay in my spare room at the surgery. And of course I'd care for her pregnancy and other medical issues, if any cropped up.

"So, um, is everything alright?" I asked. She looked quite competent standing back in a Portwenn classroom where she belonged.

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, um, I mean have you got everything you need? You got the job, which is good." I stammer at her, her lovely eyes and perfect face staring at me.

Louisa agreed, but warily. "Yes. He's weird though," she said, tossing her head in the general direction of the other classroom.

I was confused. "Who is?"

"The head master."

"Ah," was all that came from me.

"What?" Louisa answered.

I didn't want to discuss her job. Not at all, but it was an opening for the rest of it. "Well, I mean it must be galling, being back but not being head mistress," I went on.

She shook her head. "No, it's not galling. _He's_ not normal," she said, clearly wanting to discuss Mr. Strain some more.

I decided to plow straight to the heart of the matter. "Tell you what isn't normal," I went on.

"What?" She sounded confused.

This was the sticking point, just there. "You having this… baby without telling me. It's very high-handed of you Louisa." As I said it I knew it was a mistake.

I wondered all night why she hadn't called all those months in London unless she'd erased my telephone number from her mobile, but _she_ could have called the surgery and asked for _me to call her. _Wouldn't she want me to know she was pregnant? Didn't she know that I would have cared? Helped her? The way I was trying to help her now?

She answered in a shrill voice plus glaring at me with fire filled eyes and her words were tinged with acid. "Oh, is it? Do you imagine I didn't want to discuss it? In London, _on my own_, in a bed-sit, 37 years-old, single, pregnant? Do you think I didn't want to talk to the father, work things out? But what would you have said, Martin, hm?"

Then she shifted her voice into a bass register in a non-flattering imitation of me. _"Have you considered an abortion? I'll back you up whatever you decide."_

A rush of blood flew to my head. "I would have backed you up, absolutely!" How could she imagine that I would impose my views about the pregnancy on her? This is _her_ body we're speaking of!

I went on. "But keeping it a secret is just feminist point scoring, like you staying at the pub!" That time I shouted and as soon as the words came out she pounced on them.

"I didn't _choose_ to stay at the pub. My house is being rented out by _Mr. Creepy_," she shouted back. Her nose wrinkled and eyes rolled.

More fire flashed. "Nobody made you do it, and you get _money_ for it!" I said insistently.

"So?" she said giving me a look like she knows some great secret that I do not posses.

Now I was exasperated, upset, sweating, and quite cross. "So that pays for the room at the pub!"

We glared at each other for a few seconds and I tried to defuse it with medical matters. "We should arrange to get your notes sent down," I said quietly.

Gone are the days of non-medical deliveries, at least in this country. Given Louisa's past record of anemia and blood pressure issues she needs to be tended carefully.

She looked at me quite shocked. "What? My doctor's notes?"

"Yes. It's pretty straight forward."

She stared at me. "They've been sent down. I'm with the hospital in Truro."

"What?" I'm thunderstruck.

"You didn't imagine you'd be my doctor, did you? That would be really… odd, Martin." She stared at me like I had two heads.

I clamped my lips together as she was very likely correct. "Your choice," I said sadly and with finality.

Louisa looked to the floor and rubbed her forehead. I was getting a headache myself as well.

Did Louisa think I could or would not separate the professional from the emotional? That I'd go all gooey over her pregnant belly, breasts… self? That any personal interest or animosity would jeopardize her medical treatment? But by her statement, she does _not_ want me to be involved. And tied in what she said last night, not as her _lover_, the _father_ of her child, or as her _doctor_!

Nothing… nothing at all. My God! My heart sank lower than it ever had, and that's saying something.

I've _lost her again _as surely as six months ago when we parted. In spite of the baby that the two of us started as an engaged couple, and though we were unaware of it then, we were going to be parents, like it or not. There must be something I could do!

I have seen flamboyant displays of public affection that would make me sick to my stomach, but there was one that always struck me with tenderness. I'd always wondered how it might feel. Surely human touch would break down this wall I'd built – this horrible mess I'd made of everything today and yesterday and before.

We stood two feet apart and I shyly put out my hand to touch her pregnant abdomen. But I fell short by some inches. I expected Louisa to take my hand and press it against her pregnant belly, but the wrong thing happened.

She reached out her right hand, took mine, and shook it.

I squeezed her fingers gently, let go of her soft delicate hand and without backward glance left the classroom, before she saw me burst into tears.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 – Adults

I pulled the door closed behind me and stood outside the school, my head barely hidden by the roadbed above. I paused and felt hot tears about to spring from my eyes. I ground my teeth together and pressed a hand against the grimy stone wall. My other hand was striking my thigh.

The emptiness I felt was almost unbearable. Louisa… wanted me to stay away… didn't want any… odd… encounters then. Didn't want me to…

A voice overhead called out. "Hoy, Doc! You ok?"

I looked up and saw one of the shopkeepers. Mr. Tyne was leaning over the railing looking down at me with a concerned expression. "I was just goin' down hill here and saw you stopped there, all quiet like! Everything…"

"Fine!" I shouted. "All fine." I looked away and wiped my face. "I've just finished speaking to the head master. I was … merely… collecting my thoughts."

He looked down. "Well… alright. Say, I heard Miss Glasson is back; teaching again."

"Yes." I breathed deeply and took a few steps up the stairs to the street level, brushing the dirt of the wall from my hands.

"So," the man went on, "what you think about Miss Glasson being back? And a baby as well? I'll bet you're a happy man."

"Fine, it's fine." It took all my willpower to put one foot before the other and walk away, without adding anything other than, "Goodbye."

"We can all be _adults_ about it, right?" he called to my back.

Adults, I sneered, are sometimes just large versions of children. And children can be infantile bullies, vacillating from whinging to shouting. Babies to children to adults, all of them, giant bags of emotional drama! Air blew from my nose, as with clamped mouth I stalked back to the surgery.

But Mr. Tyne's and Louisa's comments struck home. How was I going to cope? How was I going to watch as Louisa's pregnancy progressed and I was left uninvolved?

I'd yearned for her so very much these past months and then as if my wish was granted she returned. What a surprise that was! I heard Pauline describe Louisa as _'Dragging that lump around.'_ Did she mean a pregnant uterus or me?

The sun shone full on Portwenn that afternoon, and as the patients came and went, I stayed focused on their complaints, symptoms, and treatment. A perforated eardrum was followed by a sprained ankle, an infected digit, a checkup for a new job, an anxious mother whose child would not eat what she served him – paraded before me. Through it all I maintained a professional demeanor, rigid back, straight forward look, and steady hands as I treated the medical minutia of the practice. But part of mind was elsewhere.

What I wanted to do was jump in my car and drive far away, find some deserted headland and scream my rage and disappointment at the sea. The rage would fly quickly, which was passing even as I thought of it. My pulse slowed, my headache had eased, and what came to my mind more and more fully was a very dark mood.

Finally the surgery was empty and Mr. Strain came in to give a urine sample.

The abdominal exam I managed to talk him into was quick and non equivocal. No major findings, but his twitching was.

"You mean you have no idea that you're doing it?" I asked.

"No! How would I? Now don't go on!" he almost shouted.

He then lunged at me and snagged some sort of fluff from my jacket.

"Sit down," I directed.

Strain looked away, hunched his shoulders and marched from my consulting room.

"Mr. Strain? Where _are_ you going?"

My promise of a remedy caught him at the door and he sounded as if he'd come back just as Pauline Lamb barged back in and interrupted the man's moment of clarity.

"Forgot my shoppin'," she explained.

Mr. Strain rushed away, followed by Pauline with a parcel and I was left by myself in the empty cottage. The head master's paranoid ranting about Louisa was very strange and I really should have gone after Strain but assumed I'd get into a tug-of-war with the man.

There was something adrift in him and I was unsure what. More testing would have to be done. I put away his notes, closed the file and stood there for a moment wondering what I should do.

I could work on a clock, read the BMJ, or… there was a bottle of good whiskey under the kitchen sink and it called my name. That would be too easy; far too insidious to consider, too much harking back to the past. I went into the living room, sat on the sofa and waited for the feeling to pass. I was tired and Mr. Strain had well and truly strained me. Far more important in my head were my dealings with Louisa Glasson.

My head fell into my hands and I thought about her.

Louisa would be at the pub, likely eating dinner, trying to make her way through the gossiping small talk whirling about and around her. She'd be smiling, waving, putting up a good front. She'd be acting like an adult while I sat in my house thinking about getting drunk.

Now she wanted nothing to do with me. She made that abundantly clear. Not now and not ever.

I found myself thinking back to our lovemaking, as brief and infrequent as it was. It was dreamy, gratifying, lingeringly wonderful… and raucous. She screamed "Martin!" as I shouted "Louisa!" at the ultimate moment and the whole horrible world went away for a time. Was that the night our baby was conceived? Not that it matters. It was here, on the way, being gestated inside Louisa.

I rubbed my face and felt a small tear roll down my cheek. "NO!" the shout came out. "Martin! You can't dwell on the past. You know that way lies…" my mind finished the thought silently, _danger!_

Being an adult was fairly easy for me. I could deal with the facts of village life and the maladies of my patients in a very adult, albeit at times, too forceful way. But there at times when I felt less than an adult. The whiskey would be an easy way to end these thoughts, but I knew the aftermath would be terrible.

A sighed leaked out of my mouth as the facts reasserted themselves. If Louisa Glasson wished to live here in _her_ village, and have _her_ baby here without interference from _me_, then she would have it.

"Yes, Mr. Tyne," I said quietly, "I can be an adult. But it won't be easy."

I returned to my desk and taking down a book on nervous disorders, began to read.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Seaside

The morning had dawned bright and the whiskey bottle remained untouched and for that I was very glad. I managed to sleep a few hours and eat breakfast and even though felt unsettled, I was functional.

I was walking back from shopping when I encountered Louisa, standing near the _Crab and Lobster_ pub gazing out to sea. My legs took me straight to her and my mouth spoke the words it wished, "Hello," I said warily. I was totally uncertain how this encounter would go, especially since we had parted with such acrimonious and disheartening words the day before.

"Martin, hello." She did not exactly look pleased to see me.

She was beautiful. The sun shone gloriously on her face, setting off her brilliant white teeth and blue eyes. Her dress, some sort of yellow and blue thing covered in giant daisys, with a yellow cardigan, looked new. Of course it's _new_, Martin! She won't fit into any of her other clothes! You idiot.

We spoke about jelly babies, which she'd been eating, and her face fell as I warned her that shifting the baby weight would be difficult later. Too many useless calories now would be a problem later given her age.

She seemed to take my comment well, but I was not entirely sure I should have spoken that way. I'd imagine pregnancy weight gain, though important to the health of the developing foetus, is likely maddening in a society that praises thin women.

Louisa told me some more of the odd behavior of her new boss, the head master of the school. She was quite surprised when I refused to discuss Mr. Strain or anything about his medical issues with her.

She described some of his off behaviors, mocking, skulking around, and strange arm movements. But she assured me that he'd not acted threatening in any way, which was good.

At this point, Auntie Joan drove up in her battered black farm truck. I thought she was looking for me, but the opposite was true.

Louisa went on, telling me that she was going to Truro for an antenatal exam, and Joan was taking her.

"Sh… shouldn't _I_ be taking you?" I stammered.

"I'm fine thanks," she answered and with two backward looks though smiling, climbed into my aunt's dirty truck. And off they went. I stared at the departing vehicle stupidly. How could she accept assistance from my aunt and not from me? I sighed. Well the child will be Joan's great-nephew I suppose.

Louisa did say that she would call me if the head master did anything else odd. For that I was glad, until I could discern what his problem was. The test results should be back today and they might shed a light on his problem.

I made my way to surgery, feeling sad and proud as well. Sad that Louisa was getting on with her job, which was good, but clearly without any help needed by me. But I was proud realising that Louisa would take care herself, in spite of the extra jelly baby or two, and the baby would be fine. But with my next breath all the facts of complications of elderly prima-gravidas flew into my head, partly from the reading I'd done last night. High blood pressure, pre-eclampsia, early labor, premature rupture of membranes… the list ran on and on. One of the vast negatives of being a doctor is in knowing too much, and that does get me into trouble at times.

The office day started awfully with Pauline's uncle Jimmy yelling at me about testosterone while his wife Jen sat there with a stricken face. When I explained to the stupid oaf that by taking anabolic male steroids he was actually lowering his sperm count, the poor woman burst into tears. Mr. Mellinger sprang up and with more abusive shouts bolted from surgery with his wife in fast pursuit.

They bolted away and Mrs. Bollard got into a bit of shouting match with Mr. Strain over who was next. He asked if he could jump the queue, and she definitely said no.

"Feeling all right?" I asked him as Mrs. Bollard went in to my consulting room.

Mr. Strain trembled and smiled, but said nothing.

By the time I'd finished my exam of Mrs. Bollard and written her the scrip she needed, I felt prepared to see Mr. Strain. Though I had no answer yet, I felt certain that the proper test results would be a further clue. I called out his name and actually saw him head in, but James Mellinger burst in, slammed the door, and all but prostrated himself while admitting steroid use, as well as an embarrassing personal desire. It was upsetting for him and for me. Psychology or psychiatry is not my long suit but I promised him I'd do some research for him.

But the time I was able to usher a now partially relieved Mr. Mellinger from the room some time later, I emerged to see an empty waiting room. Expecting to see Mr. Strain waiting there, I asked Pauline, "Where's he gone?"

"He up and left. Bit jumpy isn't he?" Pauline leered.

I hated it when Pauline made judgments about my patients, and I should warn her again about it as she was playing with fire.

I then asked her about Mr. Strain's test results on the urine test which should be back now. Then, it turned out that because Pauline Lamb was occasionally unable to follow even the _simplest_ directions Mr. Strain's urine sample had been left on a window sill and exposed to sunlight. The ultraviolet light activated the abnormal hemoglobin byproducts in his urine and it turned blue. Suddenly the pieces fell into place!

His erratic behavior, chronic gut pain, the lack of intestinal motility leading to massive bouts of constipation, and this also would explain his depression, paranoia, and odd twitches due to peripheral nerve damage. The man had porphyria, for god's sake. I should have determined that well before Pauline flubbed sending the sample out!

I must be getting soft in the head, but in my defense, porphyria is quite rare, and there had been a lot on my mind, that is a lot of people… well _one_ in particular.

I explained to Pauline that we needed to call the school and have him come to see me. It was absolutely necessary that he get treatment before something worse happened.

She set off to the telephone and I reviewed what I'd need to do if he suffered a psychotic break. My eyes grew wide as I realized that Strain's paranoia about Louisa may lead him to do something foolish.

Pauline yelled from the other room. "He's not at the school - he's not there!"

I spoke to the school secretary who'd remained on the line. "Have him call me when he returns! NO!" I shouted at the woman. "You call me when he gets back!"

I heard her affirmation and then hung up.

I sat at my desk wondering where the man might be, when the phone buzzed, and Pauline shouted at me from the waiting room. "It's Miss Glasson!"

I scooped up the handset. "Louisa?"

"It's all very nice here at Rosscarrock Cove!" She spoke oddly like she was not speaking to me.

"What's wrong?"

"We could sure use some… help! Getting this beach all cleaned up!" Her odd tone continued.

"Mr. Strain is there?"

"That's right," she said quietly.

"And you can't talk?" This was terrible, I thought. No telling what he might do!

"That's right, that's right…" she said followed by a burst of static and the signal dropped.

I sprang up and took up my medical bag. "Pauline! Call PC Penhale and have him meet me at Rosscarrock Cove!"

"What's the matter?"

"Mr. Strain has gone mad!"

She smiled a strange smile and chased after me from the surgery.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 – Moses

Mr. Strain was acting very oddly as I rounded the bulging rock face of the cove and saw Louisa and the children from the school. The fool had them scrubbing at rocks for heaven's sake, another sign of the medically induced derangement he suffered. Perhaps I was distracted by the heavily pregnant Louisa crouching next to me, as she scrubbed away at a rock with a brush and things got out of hand quickly.

She seemed to be alright, as Strain circled the group, hands behind his back like some unruly martinet. So far, no one was terribly upset or hurt. That is, until I stepped on one of their little hands and the boy started to cry. Strain did not help the matter when he accosted me and the boy who now started whinging and crying as the head master approached.

I crouched next to a seaweed covered rock, trying to examine the boy's wiggling fingers, aghast that I'd stepped on them. Fortunately the sand was soft and my foot broad, so I'd not compressed them, very much.

Louisa then started playing doctor, encouraging the boy. "If you can wiggle your fingers, Charley, they're not broken!"

I played along to keep Strain calm, as I could tell he was getting agitated, but Louisa's presumption of medical knowledge rankled. "See! Look!" I pointed at the boy's hand. "It's ok! He's ok!" I went on stupidly.

Strain rushed over and maniacally flung Louisa to the sand and she fell on her back.

"How dare you!" I shouted at Strain. "You can't just go pushing over pregnant woman!" In spite of my resolve to handle the head master carefully, I saw red. The nerve of the man! I balled my fists in anger.

"What?" Strain answered, clearly not on the planet any longer. He stood up and marched away out of my reach. Fortunately for him as I knew I'd laid hands on him I'd strike him.

I knelt over Louisa and helped her up. "You alright?" God! If he'd hurt her… or the foetus!

"Yes, I think so." She felt her bump. "No harm done."

I looked up the landing praying for Penhale to arrive so the two of us could restrain the madman, but Strain faced the ocean, flung his arms wide and marched straight into the surf. I'd been told of the numerous rocks lurking here, as well as the tale of two children drowned in this very cove as the tide came up and were swept away, cut off from the beach by the rising water. This was no gentle sandy cove to be playing in and there was a very real risk of injury or death here.

Into the ocean marching away with arms overhead like Moses trying to part the sea, Mr. Strain strode happily along, shoe deep, then knees, then up to his waist.

"Martin!" screamed Louisa who'd managed to stand with my help.

I sighed and shook my head, knowing I'd have to go in after the poor fool. "Oh, don't do that!" I called out, but he was getting deeper and deeper.

There is something about cold water that can ruin any day, and this was no exception. I bolted after him, calling his name, thinking as the cold water hit my feet, that I'd polished my shoes that morning, the wallet I was using was a new one that Auntie Joan had given my for my birthday, not to mention the effect of salt water on my freshly cleaned suit, but at least my Rolex was waterproof. Salt water and leather do not mix though.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0

I stood on the sand watching Martin go after poor Mr. Strain. The kids didn't seem to care very much as the absurd adult drama played out before them, they just kept scrubbing away with their brushes and wondered what was going on. Their head master had marched them from school, treated them very oddly to a military-type line up and then set them to work scrubbing seaweed covered rocks!

When I returned to school after my antenatal check at Truro, the school was empty and quiet. Mr. Strain had apparently taken my class on a nature walk, I was told, and I found that very odd. Usually such things would be arranged well in advance and if near the sea, there would have been both a teacher and an aide. I sighed and set off to Rosscarrock Cove, my pregnant self grunting at the uphill slopes and feeling my feet slide in my shoes on the downhill parts.

I caught sight of the head master's bald head bobbing about past the rock bluff where two children had drowned many years back. Fortunately the tide was out, but the sight of the children lined up like soldiers while Strain marched up and down the line sent a chill up my spine. And to see it happening in the spot where children died decades before I was born made it all the scarier. There are haunted houses and byways in Cornwall, and dangerous cliff walks, but seeing the students in the well-known cove danger zone made me quite cross.

My crossness turned to fear when Mr. Strain saw me and turned on me with a wild eye. He made it quite clear that he was in charge, and but for the sake of the kids, I really wanted to be elsewhere. There was just one thing to do. Play along! I got the kids to work, taking brushes and scrubbing rocks.

Strain bent over me and gave me a suspicious and mad look. "What are you helping?" he shouted.

I smiled at the man as I worked away with kids on either side of me. "We just need to get this beach cleared away, right? Let's get busy children!"

Mr. Strain smiled and wandered off, keeping a close eye on all of us. When my back was to him, I pulled my mobile from my purse and quick-dialed the surgery. I thought quickly and pretended to be speaking to the kids.

When Martin figured things out I was ever so relieved. Now just have to keep the lid on until help arrived. So I kept a happy smile, encouraged the children, and tried to stay positive.

In a few minutes when Martin came striding along, asking if anyone was hurt, I knew he'd sort it. And now he was, grappling with the head master in cold salt water. When they both went under, I screamed out "Martin!"

0 0 0 0 0 0 0

I caught up with Strain and he whirled to face me as I called his name.

His face was the gentle smile of a madman and he held arms overhead in a V-pattern. "You see!" he shouted out, clearly very glad to see me.

I put my hands on his shoulders. "Come now," I said, but he took my arms and plunged us both into the waves. Sandy, salty, and very cold water gushed up my nose and filled my eyes as we went under. I pushed him way, felt him turn and then grabbed him about the chest from the back, knowing that this would restrain him, a hold I'd learnt in medical school psychiatric training long ago.

I dragged the Bodmin fool towards shore as Joe Penhale rushed into the water to help. As water streamed down my body, I could see Pauline Lamb by the police Rover, obviously having come with the constable. Strain was a limp fellow by the time we got ashore. He wasn't hurt and the cold water now had calmed him; the poor man now dazed by the bustle about him.

The ten minute walk back to Portwenn wasn't nearly long enough as I enjoyed spending that time with Louisa as she and Pauline shepherded the children to school. It was a fine afternoon, ruined only by the squelching of my seawater ruined shoes and soaked suit.

Although Pauline made unhelpful comments just then about Mr. Strain to the children, there was no real harm done, thank God! I'd have to speak to Pauline that Mr. Strain's condition was no reflecftion on the person. He'd suffered a medically induced psychosis and that was no fault of his. In fact, _I _should have put two and two together well before this happened. But his blue urine was the clinching factor in this case.

The children went into the school and Louisa and I talked quietly. She had to get ready to discharge the students for the day plus I needed to wash and change.

"You're sure you're alright?" I asked her. After this adventure who knew what might happen? Perhaps I should be taking her to Truro for a checkup. Most pregnancies don't have to deal with a rough-and-tumble on a beach in the sixth month.

"Oh yes, just fine." She said then lurched and put a hand on her side.

Alarming! "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said and a bright smile came to her face. "It just moved."

"Moved?" What might be wrong? Did that fall caused by Strain start premature labor? Not impossible.

"Yes. It's alright Martin, perfectly normal."

A black car pulled up just then bearing Edith Montgomery. "Are you wet?" she called to me. "Hello!" she then called cheerily to Louisa, which seemed to make Louisa unpleased.

"Yes," I answered to Edith, "just dealing with a patient who had a medically induced psychosis."

Edith looked quite surprised never supposing that such things could happen in Portwenn. I heard Louisa say goodbye to me and sensed that she went into her school, which will now need a new head teacher, I'd suppose.

Edith discussed her interest in my reviewing an OB-GYN paper she'd written and I agreed. She drove off and I turned to face the school, seeing the front door close just then.

I'd have liked to speak to Louisa some more; inquire about the foetal movement she'd felt, if she'd hurt her back and so forth, but the chance was lost. Water dripped from me onto the street as I stared at the closed door, behind of which was the woman carrying my child, the woman that I'd wanted to marry at one time, and the woman I… I wished I knew better and knew how to reach.

Mr. Strain had tried to part the waves and failed. I was also reminded that Moses did not enter the Promised Land either. No girl-pack was needed for I knew the word already. _Martin, you tosser!_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16 – The Doctor

I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bed, feeling sand migrate from the seat of my dress to the coverlet. I sighed, just thinking about what might have happened this afternoon.

Poor mad Mr. Strain! I knew he was acting odd - quite odd. When Martin explained the genetic defect that the man had which caused his mania, it became clearer. So the feeling I got from him was just that a feeling that he _was_ a bit off. Poor bugger. A medical condition after all. My medical condition thumped again, on the left side, right where I'd been kicked that afternoon. I patted my preggers tummy. "It's alright little guy. We're fine now." Thanks to your daddy. He'd saved the day, literally.

I wiggled around and put a pillow under my head. I was exhausted. The trip to Truro with Joan was so nice compared to a long bus ride. It gave us a chance to catch up on things. Joan was _so_ excited about the baby but I didn't actually know how she might treat me at first. But the no nonsense lady that she was welcomed me warmly, almost gushingly right in the chemist's too, as Sally Tishell was giving me very cold looks and making snarky comments about me, Martin, and the baby… and about marriage.

Sally you just don't understand, do you? I know that you've carried a torch for Martin for a very long time, but you _are_ married to _Clive_. Although it was very obvious that the one _you_ wanted to be with was not _your_ husband.

Thankfully Joan saved me from further embarrassment, or harassment, as her sunny words heaped praise and welcome on me under the glowering eyes of Mrs. Tishell. Joan offered me a place to stay at her farm, but it's so far from the school and without a car, I'd have to take a taxi. Joan even offered to drive me back and forth. That much help I was not able to accept.

I added Joan Norton to my short list of good friends who were so glad to see me. In Joan's case her attention was almost overwhelming. She was practically breathless with anticipation of the baby coming in three months, but it was so fun to be able to talk girl-talk with her to Truro and back. She tried to fill me in on the doings of the village, and I noticed that she tried very hard not to bring her nephew into the mix. Like it or not, Martin Ellingham did come up.

"So has that nephew of mine talked to you, Louisa?"

"Yes."

"I see."

We'd kept the conversation light on the way to hospital. But when Joan encountered Doctor Edith Montgomery in the hall, the air turned frosty.

Doctor Montgomery had already put me off, along with the attitude of the midwife who interviewed me.

"Will the father be coming to these appointments with you?" the slender nurse in the blue smock asked. Her nameplate read Moira.

"No."

"I see," she replied.

The way that she said it put me off. "And what does that mean exactly? I see?" I rubbed my side where my passenger was kicking.

A voice behind me that I recognized butted in. "It's part of our research project on geriatric parents."

The woman turned to face me and I recognized her. It was that _Edith_ from the other night at Martin's cottage! She was still green-eyed, ginger-haired, petite _and_ thin - too thin to my eyes.

"No, the father won't be cooperating." The woman went on and smiling a treacle-tinged smile left the room.

The exam seemed to go well and I felt better dealing with nurse Moira, but when Edith approached me in the hall, my radar switched on again. Edith explained to me how she was connected to the hospital and the OB department, but when she started to ask prying personal questions, that put me right off. Such as why I was here in _Martin's village_ and I didn't want to go it alone? She even used the words _cold feet_.

I told her flat out, "I don't see that it is any concern of yours!" Whether I had this baby on my own or not should be no worry of this medico. And Portwenn is _my_ village which Edith seemed to find hard to fathom.

"Well you can see how I got hold of the wrong end of the stick?" she said to my retreating back.

I whirled on her. "No, not really! Was it because I have a country accent?" This woman was doing a very good job getting under my skin. If I had to deal with her on every hospital visit I'd just as soon go back to Martin bloody Ellingham. My pulse was pounding now and things may have gone right downhill between us just then, but Edith saw Joan waiting for me and gave her a big hello.

"Oh my god! Auntie Jill?" Edith called out and the look that Joan gave her would have cut thru armor-plated steel.

Joan practically dragged me from the hospital and I knew there was no love lost between the two of them. Martin had known Edith during medical school I was told.

I nibbled on a jelly baby and asked prying questions of my own. "Like a first love?"

"Martin wanted to marry her," Joan answered with no enthusiasm.

But she'd gone abroad after and been gone _all this time_ I reflected. Interesting.

I thought a lot about the players in this little drama. Me, the plucky Portwenn teacher and oh-so pregnant by Martin Ellingham, who is our GP who now wanted nothing to do with me, and now this Doctor Montgomery on the scene as well. I'd no time at all to even _think_ about all this while Mr. Strain held us hostage on the beach, but now back in my nice cozy, snug, rented, and _lonely_ room at the pub, it started to sink in.

Edith was there when I went to see Martin. And she just so happened to show up outside the school today and interrupted Martin and me as we talked. When the baby moved, I felt I should take his hand and put it on my belly. But the orange doctor drove up right then.

There was nothing I could do at that moment except follow the students inside, help them get off home and heave a huge sigh of relief. But before I went to my classroom, I stood in the doorway looking at Martin as he spoke to Edith, as he probably surveyed her trim body and v-neckline in that polka dotted dress. I looked down at my swollen chest and bulging belly. _No, Louisa, polka dots would not be a good fashion choice for you, for a while._

So Edith had witnessed my whole act of _'Hello Martin'_ and _'Yes this baby is ours Martin'. _I just wanted to die then and now. If only she'd not been there! I had rehearsed what I would say to him when I arrived. My fondest hope was sort of like the dream the other night. That he'd let me stay…

I levered myself off the bed, took a wee, washed up and went down to tea chewing my lip all the while.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – Thank You

I had to bin my shoes for as they dried over the next two or three days, the sea-salt twisted them into unrecognizable black lumps, looking like they came from a coal mine. The suit could be salvaged and luckily I'd dropped my mobile as I raced into the ocean after Mr. Strain. The man was now in hospital being treated for porphyria and the treatment was helping. He had only a vague recollection of the Rosscarrock Cove incident but was so remorseful and depressed when he heard what had happened he had to be restrained.

The psychiatric and medical treatment started to work rapidly, after that though, and when he regained most of his cognitive abilities called the head of the Portwenn School Board of Governors to say that he would not return for some time.

"My doctor's believe it's to be the best course at this time," he said into the mouthpiece. "Yes! Yes, that's right… oh? Really. Right." He put his hand over the bedside handset. "He wants to speak to you."

Strain handed over the phone and I took it with some apprehension. I'd driven to Truro to check in on Mr. Strain and to give medical advice in his case. "Ellingham."

"Doc Martin! Say, I've heard what you did the other day on the beach. Kept things all hunky-dory!" The man sounded positively ecstatic. The head of the school board of governors was speaking.

I did not need to hear his platitudes. "Yes."

"And kept the children and Miss Glasson from harm as well."

"Just doing my job." I hated these sorts of confabs!

"More than that I'd say! So when do you think he can return to work? If it's too long, we'll likely keep him on disability and employ a temporary head teacher."

I glanced over at the house officers lined up to examine Mr. Strain as he'd become a medical learning case, his condition being rare.

"Have to see." I was uncomfortable speaking to the man in front of the patient, for as well as being a governor of the school I was also his doctor, so I was conflicted with responsibilities. "Goodbye," I said and rung off.

Mr. Strain looked up at me with a relieved face. "Thank you, Doctor Ellingham. Without you…" he shrugged. He then grinned at the mass of young doctors waiting to speak to, poke, and prod him. "Come on then," he waved to them all, "let's give it a go!"

I stalked from the hospital and drove back to the village. With Strain having broken down, there was now at least a full time opening at the school. Louisa was the most likely candidate and that was good, or so I thought, for she very likely needed the money.

But my lips curled as I knew how seriously she took her work and just now she needed to start resting, with the pregnancy advancing. She'd probably teach herself to death, being so conscientious. I knew Louisa well enough to know that much about her and I also knew that she would not take my advice, no matter the circumstances; our school dustup was proof of that.

As I drove back to Portwenn I thought of her trying to live and work after school closed at the noisy pub, thinking also that the sheets on my guestroom bed were newly laid on and well pressed, and my guest towels were soft and absorbent. If only she'd let me ask her to stay in the surgery!

The miles passed and I couldn't think of anything but Louisa and the baby.

0000000

The school went back to normal straight away, as no longer being under _strain_ so to speak, the staff could get back to teaching and hopefully the students back to learning.

I was quite touched as though by the parade of co-workers who came to see me, plus quite a few parents, so thankful that things at the beach had not fared too badly. I was trying to teach my third graders about weather a few days later, when Carrie Tyne raised her hand.

"Yes Carrie?"

"Miss Glasson?" the brown-haired girl asked. "Does this mean you'll be at the school all day now? My mum said that if the school governors didn't hire you full time then they're all as mad as the head master!"

All the other children giggled.

"Now children!" I said trying keeping my voice even. "You know we have talked about Mr. Strain. The head master was sick, that's all, and he's in hospital getting better."

"My brother said he's loony!" shouted Timmy Simpkins from the back.

The children all laughed, the sort of laugh you give out after dashing across a road, and a car whizzes by just behind you, for you'd not been paying attention and but for a false step and you'd have been run over.

I sighed and waited for their giggles die down. I parked my bum on the desk and looked them straight in the eye. "Now look, you lot!" This was a time to lay down the law. "Mr. Strain got sick that's all! How would you feel if it was you that got sick and people called you mad or whispered gossip behind your back?" This was something I knew about, all too well. "Let's say that Timmy here," I pointed at the class clown, "fell out of a tree and broke his arm. Would it be fair to say that he did it on purpose or because his arm was broken that he was some sort of a bad person?"

A few comments came back. "No Miss Glasson."

"Right! You remember to be fair, now! Let's try to treat people the way we want to be treated." I really wanted to throw my own experiences into this discussion, but I was their teacher so I had to at least pretend to be an adult. I put on my best smile. "Now, since you mentioned it, let's all work to make great big get-well card to send the head master, and we'll all sign it."

Charley held up his hand, the one that Martin had stepped on during our beach rescue. "Miss Glasson? Can we send a card to Doctor Ellingham and to PC Penhale too?"

"Why Charlie I think that is a fabulous idea! Let's get out our markers…" so three cards were made. Trudy and Alicia, two of our teachers, were heading Truro-way the next day and they took Mr. Strain's card, all covered with smiley faces, off-kilter flowers and sea shells, and scrawled names.

The card for PC Penhale I dropped in his post box on an evening ramble, the pub noise getting a bit loud that night. I'd thought about having Joe Penhale come to the school to pick it up, but since he was the sort who believed that his two best tools in the community were _verbal_ _negotiation_ and _pepper spray_, I really didn't want him lecturing my students.

The third card I put aside to take to Martin personally, along with a note from_ me_, expressing my fervent thanks.

I dressed carefully the next morning even though it was my off morning; only working afternoons. I chose a blue denim jacket and a grey denim washed-out skirt, black stockings with a white vest and short sleeved shirt. The shirt buttoned all the way up and all the way down, but it covered my bump fairly well. I left the top three buttons open though. The vest was skin tight and it was long enough to cover the nasty elastic band at the top of the skirt. Maternity wear did cover all the lumpy bits but they felt… odd. Having no waist for another three months, it felt bizarre to battle gravity which was always tugging down on trousers or skirts, the items held up only by friction and compression, and sometimes a wish and a prayer.

I ate breakfast and was brushing teeth when I realized I'd not felt the baby move since yesterday. I knew Joan would be making vegetable deliveries and I didn't think this an emergency, but I'd resolved to see Martin getting the kid's thank you note as well as mine in person, so the cards were already stuffed into my purse. I could just pop on up there and have him… take a look. I was certain he'd do that much for me.

I tried to be very casual as I walked up Rosscarrock Hill to the surgery, but as I saw Martin emerge drinking coffee, my fears rose. I'd told him I was being treated in Truro, not by him. I was still distressed by his reaction to my pregnancy and his crack about _feminist point scoring_ really ruffled my feathers.

And then there was Edith, _somehow_ popping up from nowhere at odd times. What if I walked up there and Edith sprang from the cottage, threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss, while my pregnant body was waddling up there? That would be far too much to bear.

Martin turned and he saw me approach and I couldn't do it. I turned just a bit and peered over the cliff wall, like I was looking at birds or boats. From the corner of my eye, I could see him starting to walk my way, but Joan Norton's little white dog Buddy went running up the hill towards Martin. He hated that dog - like all dogs. He turned one-eighty and I turned ninety degrees and we parted, never having gotten closer than thirty feet. But as I clip-clopped my way back down the hill, the baby inside lay inert and I choked back a sob. _Thank you Martin for all your help!_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 – Hearts

Joan stood at the surgery door with a worried Louisa at her side. "Martin! Louisa needs your help. Something's wrong!"

I brought them inside and Louisa lay on my examination couch, having stripped off her jacket as Auntie Joan started playing at being a doctor. "When's the last time you felt it move?"

I interrupted her and pushed her from the room. "Let me be the doctor?"

I washed my hands and went to Louisa. "Now, when's the last time you felt it move?"

She chewed her lower lip as she does when she's worried. "Must have been about lunchtime yesterday?" She sounded quite unlike herself, yet I know that Louisa is prone to worry. She'd stood not thirty feet away in my kitchen two years ago and told me that she worried about everything – literally. Now she was pregnant, by me no less, and there was plenty more to worry about.

I decided to monitor the baby's heart rate, which was a good place to start. I looked down at Louisa, her abdominal bulge subdued in the supine position. This was quite a change from the last time I'd seen her thus, in the fall. I pushed that precious memory from my head. "Undo the bottom buttons of your blouse and pull down the top of your skirt."

She started fumbling with the buttons. She glanced at me as she struggled with them. "It's a bit awkward."

I stood there watching this drama play out and I shouted as heat filled my face. "Well if you're embarrassed why did you come and see me?"

Fire flashed to her face then. "No, I mean it's tricky to undo this blouse. The buttons are very small and my fingers are getting FAT!"

"Let me help."

Together the two of us struggled with tiny odd shaped buttons and even tinier button holes. She fumbled around and I tried to unbutton some as well. Louisa was right, this was embarrassing. She'd told me I was _not_ to be her doctor, yet she came to me for medical treatment plus we weren't an engaged couple any longer either, yet here we were taking clothes off, or at least trying.

I held a prized memory of Louisa sitting on her bed, helping me unbutton my shirt. I dared not look her in the face now so I maintained my focus on the blasted blouse. Yet the button struggle was too familiar. It was the night we became engaged.

We'd eaten take-away fish and chips in her cottage. She drank white wine and I drank bottled water. We cleared away the dishes and scraps and she stood to go upstairs. "Give me a few minutes?" she asked, and then kissed me deeply and lingeringly.

I could only nod. By my watch it was fifteen minutes when she called down. "Come up, if you want… I mean…"

I stood and my throat was filled with my response. "Of course." I plodded up the narrow stairs, and she called to me as I climbed them.

"Use the bathroom, if you want. I'm… in here," she called from her bedroom.

She had no spare toothbrush, but I used plenty of toothpaste and an index finger to clean my mouth of the taste of fried potatoes, malt vinegar, and greasy fish. I smelled Listerine in the air, an aroma I usually smelled on Louisa's breath, as well as a faint whiff of perfume.

I stepped into the hall hesitantly and she drew me into her dimly lit bedroom. She'd released her hair from the ponytail and was wearing a long beige nightgown, with no sleeves, scoop necked, the sort of thing I've seen in newspaper adverts, though I was no student of fashion.

Through the entire tableau we didn't say much; too embarrassed, or self-conscious, or nervous. She sat on her bed, said nothing, just flashed a brilliant smile, and patted the coverlet next to her. I sat next to her and she pulled off my suit coat, set my tie askew and started working on my white shirt. I had taken her hands in mine then and held them and kissed her deeply.

"Oh, Martin, why did we wait so long?" she asked.

The buttons were just as obstinate six months ago as they were now. In the present my hands had gone all fidgety and they shook with the strain of the task, while also keeping a professional manner. Our hands were right next to one another as the silent struggle continued. I wanted nothing better than to rip the offending garment off… no that would not do. Well then to put my hands to her face and kiss her deeply – no, that would not do either.

At last two buttons popped open and I pulled the garment away and folded back her vest, exposing the smooth bulge of her abdomen which had a glossy appearance due to the contents. I abruptly flipped down the top of her skirt, brought over the fetal monitor and sat on my exam stool.

I turned on the device, placed couplant jelly on the wand, and pressed it against her skin. There was no response, and I felt Louisa lurch at the lack of sound. I looked up quickly and her eyes were frozen wide with fear, then the monitor latched onto a signal and started to broadcast the sounds it was receiving. The sound from the tiny speaker was fast but churning away – the sound of a tiny heart.

"Sounds fast," she said nervously.

I lifted my left arm to expose my watch. I counted the beats for ten seconds. Ten times fourteen was one hundred and forty. "Foetal heart rate should be between 120 and 160 beats per minute," I told her. My own heart beat faster and I looked at Louisa, trying to keep my face impassive. But this was our child - my child - I was listening to!

I wanted to shout, leap; shout for joy and even cry. Throw my arms around her and… make her stay. Tell her I _still_ loved her! Tell her I was _lost_ without her! That I was so incredibly happy that she was back in Portwenn these past few days. And also so sad that she wanted _nothing_ to do with me.

But I didn't. "Perfectly normal," I said.

"God, Martin, I was afraid…"

I packed up the monitor and took her blood pressure and pulse. Normal considering her condition and the fright she'd worked herself into.

"The baby's fine. You should have a scan, though."

"I have an appointment for one tomorrow. Joan is driving me."

"Good." I wound the sphygmomanometer cuff in the tubing and put it on the cart.

Louisa lay there taking deep breaths with her head tipped back. I took a tissue and began to wipe the jelly from her skin. It was all I could do to finish this simple task and not make a fool of myself. But her skin was warm and belly round.

She lifted her head. "Thanks, Martin." She blew out a shaky breath and smiled.

Just to see that made me feel like the rain had ended, at least for a time. I was glad I could help her and that the baby was alright.

She sat up, put her clothes to rights then gracelessly stood as I held her jacket for her. She slipped into it and I couldn't help but notice that her bust line was larger than Sunday when she'd arrived on my doorstep; the growth expected given my estimation of her due date.

Louisa picked up her handbag and grinned a little. "Sorry for the… panic… I was just…"

I stopped her by holding up my hand. "Quite alright." I paused for a few seconds. "Need anything else?"

"No," she said and I opened the door, hoping she didn't see me shaking.

0000000

"Now I am officially one of those neurotic pregnant mums," I said, relieved to know the baby was fine. I even laughed a little as Joan stood next to me in the waiting room. Martin stood in the doorway looking relieved, embarrassed, and cross. And who could blame him? Not me.

He was relieved I assumed because the baby was alright. He was likely embarrassed by this odd meeting of his aunt, the mother of his child and ex-fiancée rolled into one, plus very cross that Joan stood there holding Buddy the dog like a baby.

"Get that dog…" he started to say.

"Come on, Buddy," Joan said. "We know when we're not wanted. Come Louisa…"

"Right. Bye!" I called and Martin had that softening of his features I've seen before.

Joan followed me outside and the door closed.

"Thank God, Louisa everything _is_ alright." She put arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

I patted my belly which thumped in reply. "Yes. All a bit scary… new at this motherhood thing!" I was so relieved and also embarrassed. I'd told Martin to stay away, and he had. Then I came rushing to surgery in a near-panic propelled by his aunt.

As our hands fumbled with my buttons, it did feel weird. Martin had that determined look on his face, along with a mix of frustration and anger. But there was something else I saw when the baby's heartbeat sounded from the monitor. I could have sworn that he almost smiled. The softening of the professional Doctor Martin Ellingham mask wore far too often.

"How was Martin? Did that nephew of mine treat you ok? If he didn't…"

"No, he was fine, Joan. Really he was. I'm glad he helped," I managed to say.

Joan took my arm and ushered me into the truck like I was made of glass. "You didn't say what the two of you spoke about last week, did you?"

"No, I didn't, did I?" I paused long enough for Joan to get in and start driving. "We're fine… he's got his life…"

"And you've got yours, eh?" Her fingers tightened on the wheel. "Buddy and I will pick you up at eight tomorrow for your appointment at 9:30, right?"

"That would be fine, Joan. You've really been too kind. I don't know how I can repay you."

"Louisa! That is my grand-nephew in there," she nodded at my belly, "and I will do whatever you need me to do, at any time, in spite of the relationship, or lack of, that you and Martin have!"

I put my hand on her arm and she smiled sweetly at me and I smiled at my friend.

"Now don't you worry," she went on, "we'll deal with Martin later."

And I had no doubt that she would try. So far I had failed in the matter. Joan drove to the pub and I hugged her before I climbed out. "Thanks again, Joan."

"Of course, sweetheart! See you tomorrow, won't we Buddy?" She patted the dog's head and drove away.

I went to my room and lay down, for with all the excitement I needed a rest. The headache that had been building had gone away and without looking in a mirror I could tell my face was smoother, less wrinkled in worry.

I rooted around in my handbag for a tissue and the cards for Martin fell onto the bed. I'd forgotten them in all the bother.

The one my students made was on yellow construction paper. The one from me was pink and smelled of perfume.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 – Scan

At Truro Hospital the next morning, Moira the OB nurse gave me a very bad scare as she turned from the ultrasound screen. The grainy image showed the head of my baby and a little nose, and I was enjoying the sight, in spite of the gooey gel spread over my abdomen for the ultrasound scan.

The nurse's eyes were staring at me but her mouth hung open. She hung the scanner back on the machine hastily.

"Anything wro… wrong?" I stammered at her.

Moira gulped and her eyes went wide. "One moment," she blurted out then sprinted away.

Oh no! Drama is not what I needed. I twisted my neck around trying to get a better view of the screen. What if I just brought the scanner thing over and ran it around on me, maybe I could see what got her so upset. I stretched out with my left hand, straining to reach the handle on the cart, when my head and shoulders slid off the bed, almost to the floor. I tried to grab something and get back up when the door opened.

Edith Montgomery bolted in with the nurse. "Miss Glasson?"

They slid me fully back onto the bed as I tried to explain. "Sorry… just wanted to see the uhm…"

Edith and Moira gave the screen odd looks, looked at me and then at each other.

"Looks like SGA - small for gestational age." Edith muttered. She turned her attention on me. "Think you made a mistake?"

This woman! Ugh! I bit my lip. "No..."

"Sorry. I didn't mean getting pregnant. I mean did you get your dates wrong?"

Was Edith trying to confuse me? I peered up at her from the wheeled bed. "I'm sorry, I really don't understand what you're asking."

The orange doctor gave me a fake smile. "Did you get the day wrong?" She stopped and let that sink in.

Lord, is she _really_ asking what I _think_ she's asking? "I'm sorry, what are you? You're confusing me…"

Edith would not stop prying. "When did you actually have sex with Dr. Ellingham?"

Yeah, she is asking, I realized. I didn't want to give the woman that information! But it was important for the baby, obviously. I pursed my lips and thought best how to answer. "Well, I didn't… actually make a note… in my diary," I said trying to keep it light. "I think the last time... that is… the occasion that we…" I squirmed.

Edith Montgomery, medical school classmate of Martin, a doctor herself, ex-fiancée of Martin, who did not marry him _either_ stood there in her pixie-ish body with wide green unblinking eyes and I hated the sight of her _and_ I could tell she was holding her breath.

My voice fell. "Uhm…" more lip biting on my part. "It was around the middle of October…. Oct. 11th… and a couple of times after that," I said sheepishly.

Edith looked to the side, blinked once, and took a deep breath. She turned to face me after three of four seconds of silence. "There. Wasn't so bad was it?" She smiled but it didn't look real to me.

She looked at the baby image on the screen again. "We'll have to make some checks; make sure the baby does not have intrauterine growth retardation…" Edith rambled on in a rapid recitation about small for gestational age, Doppler scans of my placenta, and relative maternal and foetal blood flows… and she went on and on.

It was almost not _English_ it was so technical and I got the gist of it but it was like listening to Martin. The baby was small for 24 weeks and they were concerned. It should be bigger, Edith said. I looked past my now large breasts down to the giant belly I was carrying and couldn't imagine that the baby wasn't larger; must weigh kilos and kilos by now. One more thing to worry about, I realized.

Edith stepped away, put pen to pad and flipped open a calendar. "Let's see; we can get you in next Monday." She pushed the pen over the pad, ripped off a sheet and gave it to Moira. Then she marched through the door, but I saw her peep back with a sad look as the door clunked shut.

The nurse wiped the ultrasound gel off my belly and helped me stand, then I pulled my vest down and got my striped top sorted. Moira handed me Edith's scrawled appointment for more scans, and then with both hands, tenderly put a printout of the ultrasound showing the baby's head into mine.

"You'll be wanting this for the scrapbook then." She smiled. "Sorry I got upset… we don't see many SGAs; that is I haven't."

I stepped back into my shoes. "I understand."

"You'll be fine. Just have to…" she faltered, "check you out a little more."

"Yeah." I struggled into my little jacket. "You have kids?"

She held up her bare fingers. "No ring, see?"

I held my large belly with my right hand and held up my left hand showing her my bare ring finger. "No ring, see?"

Moira's face fell. "Sorry, Miss Glasson," she said like a wayward third-grader. "No, I don't have kids."

I gave my jacket a final tug to straighten it. "Someday you might look like this…" my finger pointed to my pregnant belly. "And you won't want to have the life scared out of _you_!"

"Sorry," Moira said meekly.

Joan was waiting outside the building and I slipped the ultrasound into my handbag and twisted the strap about. I would _not_ tell Joan about this, I thought. She'll be far too upset and if I discussed it with her then I would get even more worried. So I tried to paint a smile on my lips.

"Everything fine?" Joan asked, who'd been playing with Buddy on the lawn.

"Yes," I lied. "Joan, I really can't thank you enough, driving me back and forth all the time. I should have taken a taxi."

Joan waved a hand at me. "Nonsense! I can't have you wasting your money with all you're spending on that room at the pub!"

"Yeah. I really do need a place of my own." We climbed into Joan's truck.

I resolved that I would not breakdown or cry, it would startle Joan. I looked at the capable old lady, my friend, and realized just how close we had grown in the last two weeks. She had almost become a mum to me or how I imagined a mum would act; not that _my_ mum had been seen by me for a very long time.

Joan gave me a knowing look as she snapped her seatbelt. "Well, I might be able to help you, if you let me." She engaged the gears and clutch and we drove from the hospital lot.

I pushed any concerns I had about the baby from my mind wondering why Edith acted so oddly for those few seconds when I confessed when and how often Martin and I had sex – made love, really. I connected that question with her swift departure and sad look as she left the exam room.

Oh good Lord! Of course! The woman was still carrying a torch for Martin! All this time?

Did she think he'd been a monk for a couple decades? That only _she_ had ever won his bloody heart? I knew that was it! She was _jealous_! Yes, that was it! That green-eyed monster had filled up those green eyes of hers! Her look was one of disappointment!

My back hurt, I had to wee already although I'd just gone, I had a headache, my feet were swollen and didn't fit my shoes very well, I felt fat and bloated, and the bloody seat belt was trying to plough a furrow between my baps. I felt large, pained yet somehow happy now.

_She_ was jealous of _me_. Edith - Doctor Edith Montgomery - was jealous - of me! Jealous of six-month preggers, fat, bulgy - and getting bigger - me.

That made me really happy. "So Joan, tell me about this help you want to give me about a house!" I said happily. Buddy the dog put his head under my hand and I rubbed his furry head pushing the scan from my mind.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20 – Kippers

I really needed a place near the school and Joan did keep pushing me to stay with her at her farm. But it was so far from town. I'd either have to bother her for a ride to get to and fro or have to take a taxi. I was working full time at the Portwenn School now and in spite of Mr. Strain's breakdown he was still paying me rent on my house, so my money situation was _much_ improved. I can actually pay to rent a cottage now, the pub being far too noisy when I needed to mark school papers. But I told Joan a place of my own was needed within waddling distance of the school. That ruled out most of the cottages further away from the harbor. But most of those were newer with very modern conveniences, so some of those rents were very high.

I put the whole SGA scan thing into the back of my mind, knowing that I'd only make myself sick with worry if I kept thinking of it. But the trip back to the village from Truro it was difficult. Buddy was a fine traveling friend though and I really enjoyed playing with the little dog as Joan drove. The little dog lay down on the seat between us and rested his fuzzy head against my belly. He was warm and soft and he held his little doggy tongue out as he panted away. I'd like to have a dog someday. We never had one as a kid. Dad always said they were too expensive, but he did manage to find money for himself and the ponies. So no dog of our own; I had to make do with neighbor's pets and the village strays. I still can't fathom why Martin can't abide them.

Joan drove up next to Mr. Routledge's place, which was at the end of row within which was my cottage. I'd come nearly full circle, it seemed.

Joan went on how she's heard the old man wanted to go into care at a nursing home, so he might be agreeable for renting his cottage to me.

"Seems a bit odd just to knock on his door. I haven't seen him in years," I said. The man was a bit of a recluse I remembered; an old shop clerk. He was one of the Portwenn old townsmen, and used to work in one of the ship stores which were so numerous when the fishing fleet was much larger. Feeling rather foolish at this sudden visit, I slid out of Joan's truck.

"If he offers you tea make sure you wash the mug!" called Joan, which gave me some warning of what to expect.

I knocked and the old fellow called me in. First off it was quite the mess. Stacks of foam take away boxes stacked here and there, piles of newspapers and magazines, all very cluttered - but the one room on the first floor had a wonderful view of the harbor. And there was a very odd mixture of smells. Sort of a fishy and burned odor as well as a urine smell.

"Meals on Wheels brings me my meals, which is good as I'm not as good on my pins as I used to be," he explained. He sat in a worn-out overstuffed chair with his back to the window, totally ignoring the beauty outside, looking at me past piles of clutter. His white hair was askew, he'd clearly not shaved in days, and he had a funny aroma all his own.

I wandered about the room looking at the ancient dark beams overhead, the kitchen cabinets and the cooker. It all seemed so serviceable! I noticed the stairs heading up were filthy but the treads were waxed. Very nice wood it looked too, under the dirt. A good cleaning and a lick of paint here and there and this would be so nice for me, and the baby, when it came. Oddly I always thought of the baby as an 'it' not really wanting to think about it as a boy or a girl; for if I had expectations and it was born the other sex, I'd not want to feel disappointed.

"This is _so nice_, Mr. Routledge! I'd be very happy living here, if this was mine," I told him. "Such a lovely house!" I turned around thinking that I could really make this very nice. I'd put the sofa _over there_ in the window, after I tossed that ancient piano and sideboard.

He looked downcast. "Aye, I know, but the place is a mess. Can't keep it clean like I used to. And that tosser Doc Martin says I'm not sick enough to go into care! I had a heart attack this morning and I had to argue with that girl of his to force him to come see me!"

For a man who'd diagnosed his own heart attack in the AM and was now sitting bolt upright holding his cane and complaining of the GP, he looked somewhat fit. Imagining a heart attack was the obvious guess. He probably just needed company.

"I'm certain if you were really sick…" I started to say, and then my nose wrinkled as I went by the cooker. "What _is_ that smell?" It made me almost rush outside and spew. Granted I was far more sensitive to smells then I used to be, my pregnancy having given me a dog's nose it seemed, but there _was_ something wrong in here.

He sighed in answer. "I dropped a kipper down behind the cooker."

Oh god! The vomit almost did come forth. Kippers - gutted, split, and smoked herring - were endemic in the region. I didn't fancy them myself, but quite a few did.

"Home health service - no damn good! They can't reach it," he muttered, "or don't care! Last hot breakfast I've had. Now a nice fried kipper, an egg, with slices of brown bread and butter – that's a real breakfast!"

He had wolfed down the last of my jelly babies, the paltry remnants of which I'd given him as a gift; a very poor offering I knew. Just as well he ate them and not me. I'd stood at the mirror this morning and examined the wreck that pregnancy was making of my formerly trim body. Oh well, I suppose Martin was right. They _were_ useless calories. So why do I keep fancying them?

"And you know…" Mr. Routledge went on.

I sat next to him and lifted the mug of tea he'd poured out.

"Sometimes, Lisa," he kept getting my name wrong so I'd finally given up correcting him, "I can't get upstairs to the toilet, so I just pee in the sink." He pointed with an arthritis bent finger to the corner by the cooker.

I looked down at the chipped mug held mere fractions from my lips and slowly lowered it.

"You want a biscuit?" he asked. "There's some just there by the sink."

I waddled over, picked my way through the litter of a long life and snagged the biscuit pack from the counter. I averted my eyes from the food-crusted dishes and pans piled there, but my nose sent another urgent message to my stomach.

I managed to get back to my seat on the footstool near him and not have to run outside. I gave him a biscuit and took one too, not that I intended to eat it.

"So, Mr. Routledge, if you could go into Care what would you do with this place? Rent it out to _tourists?_" I sneered, "Or some local? Someone who's lived here their whole life?" I nodded for emphasis. "You know! Still works in the village."

He shook his head sadly. "Not many of those left now is there?"

"Oh, I don't know, there's a few - the shops, the _school_?" I drew out the last word and smiled sweetly, hoping he'd get the hint.

Mr. Routledge munched on his biscuit, crumbs falling into his whiskers joining the stains and smears on his vest, shabby dressing gown, pyjama bottoms and worn slippers. I didn't even want to think when he'd last changed his clothes or what those odd spots were on his trousers. The house, and the man, needed a _good_ scrubbing top to bottom. I' decided I'd clean his house as well cook him a meal or two and see where things went.

I sighed thinking that if I'd had the courage to ask Martin for his spare room two weeks back, I'd not be sitting on my arse practically groveling before this pensioner. But if I was wishing for things, why not wish that Edith Montgomery was not on the scene, or that Martin had been able to change _just a little bit,_ and we'd gotten married? We'd be all snug in White Rose Cottage, three doors away. The baby kicked and it brought me back into real life.

"Say, Lisa, where do you live?" the old man asked.

I gave him my brightest smile possible. "Well, in the pub at the moment, and I was wondering…"

0000000

I was walking across the Platt when my aunt screeched her dirt smeared truck to a halt next to me. "Auntie Joan."

"Martin! Scan went well," she practically shouted. "Thought you'd want to know."

She was all smiles, and I was glad to see her so happy. Joan had seemed a bit on edge lately. She looked fit but running the farm must be a strain for her. Uncle Phil's death years back did not leave her very well off so I supposed she'd struggled over the years. Not that the independent woman she was would ever accept help from me. She was an Ellingham after all, and each of my family has a rigid cast iron spine, a hot temper, and a stubborn streak a mile wide. We'd not accept help even when at death's door.

"Louisa has made it abundantly clear she wants me to have nothing to do with it!" I shouted. _Yes_ I wanted to hear how the scan went, _yes_ I was interested in Louisa's welfare, _yes_ I_…_ well, I wanted a lot of things. None of which was likely to come true for me. I wanted Louisa to let me… care for her – at least the medical, if not the spiritual.

Joan set her mouth and said. "And you do as you're told?" she asked belligerently.

"YES!" I shouted, feeling blood fly to my face.

Joan humphed. "That will be a first."

Her truck dropped into gear and she drove off, leaving me standing there wanting to ask another question. I looked up at the now blue sky, taking in the white washed cottages and trim black roofs of the houses. The air smelled of salt air, fish, an overfilled bin outside the pub, and diesel exhaust, but it was cool this spring day as I started walking back to surgery.

I'd taken my coffee at the door of the surgery today, looking at the village, wondering how, if I could exorcise myself of the curse of haemophobia, I could leave it. Nearly four years here, having built up a circle of… not friends … neighbors, that is people I knew, patients.

Edith was prompting me to return to London. To leave this backwater and get back into surgery she said. Where I belonged she insisted. She was _probably_ right.

Louisa wanted nothing to do with me as I told my told my aunt. The village has too many people like Joe Penhale and his odd painter brother, both of them acting weird. The daily chatup by Al upon Pauline in my reception was wearing on my nerves, as if he didn't see enough her since she'd moved in with him.

I sighed as I passed an open bed and breakfast window, and the smell of fried kippers wafted to my nose – a nasty smell. No matter if I live one more day or another hundred years, the smell of fried kippers will always make me think of Portwenn.

I marched back to surgery, but my mind wondered what Louisa's ultrasound scan showed. I should call her mobile and ask. She'd not like that though. _Not your problem, Martin,_ she'd said. _I'll take care of it. _Those words echoed in my head and they burned like fire.

Do as I'm told? My aunt asked. Yes, I _would_ do as I was told but it was frightfully hard.

But the question I really wished to ask Joan was what she thought I should do – about Louisa – about the baby – about London?


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 – Broken

In spite of my better judgment I let myself be dragged, more like pushed – this time by Pauline – to attend Mr. Routledge _again_. The pensioner continued to dream up medical problems, partly brought on by apparent loneliness and ingesting too much beer. Now, partly because of the presence of me and my black medical case, which I'd set at the foot of the stairs, he now lay on the floor in agony amidst smelly clutter in his filthy cottage.

Louisa had come by to cook the man breakfast and she now crouched down by his head patting his shoulder as the ambulance staff dragged a stretcher into the crowded cottage. "Oh, you poor man. Poor man…"

The blue polka-dotted dress was stretched over her enlarged frame and if I was a saner man I'd have told how good she looked - so motherly… so nice. Somehow the image of Louisa crouching there and the brief kiss that Edith planted on my cheek as I climbed from her car after lunch the other day got combined. Her kiss was neither wanted nor expected by me. It was odd. We'd only had lunch and I did not think that Edith was thinking what she clearly was thinking. Another of life's great mysteries and I felt that this one was not yet explained.

Edith droned on and on reading her paper with the ocean to her back. The remnants of the bloody steak she had consumed were pushed to the side. Only by staring at her face and the ocean was I able to endure the red liquid dripping with each bite she took. And as I stared at Edith, ginger hair splayed across her ears and her green eyes, I was contrasting what I was seeing with what I remembered. The old Edith was not this approachable nor so nice to me. I'd pursued her, even dragging her to Cornwall to meet my aunt and uncle, but one look and I knew they hated her and she hated this place.

We even got engaged, she protesting all the while, and I was so broken up when she left for Canada. She left me – she left me – so bereft that I went into the loo at the airport, locked myself in a cubicle after she'd flown off and sobbed silently for at least an hour.

I finally put it all down to our intellects. Each of us was drawn to the minds and not the bodies, not that the physical wasn't enjoyable at the time. Certainly I had regrets after it was ended. So why was Edith playing up to me now? Granted our meeting in the hospital was quite by chance.

I've seen the present Edith, a bit softer, less of a hard edge, certainly less of the diagnostician I imagined she'd become. That mistake with Aunt Joan's friend Barbara was just one example; the SGA of Louisa's scan another. Edith tended to latch onto one thing, not seeing the whole. I was certain the baby, that is _our_ baby, did not have SGA. There would have been other signs – less growth by the mother, and the fundal height measurement was so inexact it was laughable.

She went on reading her absolutely boring paper which I was ready to rip from her hands and toss to the nearest bin. Better yet, pick it up and light it from the candle on the table. But that would fit the 'old Ellingham' so prone to fits of rage, not that my temperament was so much improved.

Green eyes and orange hair – not blue eyes and brown hair. The woman across the lunch table was not Louisa. I was painfully aware that Louisa was quite different. Not just the presence of a growing foetus in her plus the accompanying processes to bring a pregnancy to term. No a lot more differences. Louisa Glasson was kind, forgiving, smart in the ways of people – not so factual as Edith or even myself – and she had loved me once…

I opened my mouth to complement Louisa's appearance, her hair and eyes, her pretty dress getting dirty on the filthy slate, when one of the paramedics bumped into me. "Oaf!" came out of my mouth. "Over here, watch the uhm," I directed the ambulance paramedics as they manoevered the gurney into the crowded room. "Oh, don't set the thing on his head! Fools! And watch his foot, there! Left femoral neck fracture, I believe. And don't bump the uhm… pregnant woman…"

The burly male paramedics were well known to me, but they gave me sneers. I yelled at the pair again as they gave me even more pained looks. "What is it with you two? Do your jobs properly!"

"Martin!" Louisa yelled back. "Stop being so mean! You're just getting everyone upset!" Her voice fell. "He just yells when he gets excited… and I should know," she ended.

"Louisa!" I shouted at her. "For god's sake don't…"

Louisa looked at me and her voice rose. "What Martin? Can't you shut up for once and let these men do their jobs? Hm? Not the first broken hip they've seen, I'll wager."

"That's right, Miss Glasson. We seen plenty." The larger of the two answered.

Mr. Routledge answered from the floor, lying in his dirty dressing gown and pyjamas. "Well, it's _my_ first broken hip, Lisa and I can tell you this bloody YELLING is making me hurt even more!" He twisted his head around to look up at her. "Thanks for the help, Lisa. Now what about my breakfast? Those kippers would still be nice."

"Oh, you old fool…" I checked myself as Louisa glared and managed to lower my voice. "Mr. Routledge you may very well require surgery to repair your hip. No food or drink is allowed until a determination has been made as to your care."

"Oh," said the old man in a sad voice. "Been weeks since I had a good fried kipper!"

"You don't need all the fat and cholesterol," I replied, then stepped over Routledge and helped Louisa to stand. "Louisa, let's go out…"

The woman all but fell over frontwards and backwards as I steadied her on the rough steps going out. Her six-and-a-half month pregnancy had made her quite round now and maneuvering was difficult for her, clearly. "We'll just… get out of the way," I said to the paramedics, who for the first time seemed happy.

"Right." Louisa said and eyed the old man, still lying on the dirty slate. "I'll come visit you in hospital tomorrow, maybe. And we'll talk."

I rolled my eyes knowing her visit would be no errand of mercy, since she'd already laid plans to rent this filthy cottage, having so much as said she'd do _when_ or _if_ Mr. Routledge was in nursing care. His course of treatment would very likely be surgery, a week in hospital, rehabilitation in an equipped facility and then to a nursing home.

"You do that Lisa. Here's the key to my house, luv," he answered. "Hurry boys, this leg is killing me!" he groaned but managed to slip an old fashioned brass key into Louisa's hand.

The paramedics pushed piles of papers and whatnots over with a crash to make room for their wheeled stretcher.

"Have a care, boys! I got my whole life in here!" Routledge warned them. "That's all valuable stuff, now!"

I took Louisa's arm, she clutched her handbag, and we went through. The sunlight was bright after the dim confines and the air blew some of the stink away. "That hovel should be cleaned and burned!" I blew air from my nose. "That old fraud _now_ has a real complaint! At least he won't be bothering me from here on!"

0000000

I stood outside the cottage and listened as Martin ranted and raved about poor Mr. Routledge. I rolled my eyes. As his hissing teakettle wound down, some of the real Martin Ellingham emerged as he realized I was standing next to him.

He looked about, at me and then out to sea. "Sorry, Louisa."

His suit was clean and pressed as always, tie neatly knotted, shoes polished – not a speck of dirt on him – and he looked good, I thought. In spite of everything I thought he looked good. I was squinting into the sun to see his face, and there was a soft glowing nimbus of light around his short silver hair. He _did_ look good. "Sorry? For?" I replied.

"Oh, the, uhm… Routledge thing."

_The Routledge thing. Sorry about Mr. Routledge_ I mulled to myself, and as my teeth ground together and I felt my blood pressure rise. "That's all?" I managed to spit out.

Martin looked hard at me. "Are you alright, Louisa?"

"Yes! Why wouldn't I be?"

Martin tipped his head from side to side and looked me over. "You looked flushed, you are grinding your teeth, and…"

I held up my hand to make him stop. "Martin! Enough diagnosing."

"You are stressed. I can see it. I should take your blood pressure." He reached for his medical case.

"Martin! Haven't you done enough damage for one day! Broke Mr. Routledge's hip and…" I stopped before I said more. I wanted to add that Martin had _reassured me _and _yelled at me_ all in the space of twenty seconds. Infuriating man!

"I didn't push the old man down the stairs! He fell, over the uhm… my, case."

I sighed. "And?"

"And?"

I crossed my arms. "Edith Montgomery. You're going to talk to Edith about…"

"Of course. The scan." He shook his finger at me. "Don't you worry about the baby, as I said…"

"Excuse us Doc; Miss Glasson!" interrupted the paramedics bearing Mr. Routledge away.

We stepped aside as they carried him out of the cottage to the street.

"Say Doc!" the old man called from the stretcher. "I guess you're wrong, you tosser! I AM going to a _home_! Some doctor you are! Take me away boys. And hurry, I still need my _breakfast_!"

Martin's words: _Mr. Routledge you are not entitled to a place in a home_ rang in my head. Given Martin's medical expertise, in which he was always right, he was no fortune teller though based on what happened just moments later. But the way he treated _me_ and even the _paramedics_ put me right over the top. Routledge called him a tosser. I considered this sentiment.

Martin wasn't a tosser. He was dependable, at least in a medical way. As well I knew, in spite of our argument, I could rely on him for medical help. Why the man had even rappelled down a cliff to treat the baker when he fell and got a closed head injury! Thinking of that I hoped my dad was enjoying another long stint in jail. How many did that make now? Six, seven… ten?

I sighed once more. I've certainly not had much luck with the men in my life. My dad, a sometime father as well as criminal. The architect Danny Steele who tried very hard to woo me - well you dropped him, didn't you? Danny clearly had no idea what made you tick, did he? And then there was and is Martin Ellingham.

The man stood two feet away from me, closer if you considered my now considerable pregnant belly and boobs, and I wondered what he'd do, if I leaned over and kissed him.

Kiss the man? After he yelled at you? After he treated Mr. Routledge so shabbily? After he said he'd talk to _Edith_, about your baby? Well it _is_ his baby too. And I didn't just mean that Martin yelled when he was angry. I mean he always yelled when he got excited – and happy. Those times we made love too.

Edith made it sound all tawdry – calling it sex – but _we did make love_. Sex was easy, well I suppose it was, not that I'm that loose of a woman. But our long dance of opposites – all prickly with each other most times – interspersed with words and feelings that at least _seemed and felt_ true at the time. And they were, at least then – must have been. The baby kicked just then, reminding me of the consequences, marriage notwithstanding.

For Louisa, if you didn't feel something for the man would have made love to him, or even had sex? The answer was _NO_; a resounding NO.

And when he called that Edith, you know he'll discuss medicine, right? Well, perhaps.

Martin looked round the house corner at the ambulance. "I suppose you'll be moving in here then?"

"Yes, I suppose so. We did, sort of, that is we… have an agreement."

"Close to the school. Your work."

"Yes."

"Needs a bit of cleaning, though."

"Yes." I could only state the obvious. "I'm sure Joan will help me."

"She would," Martin said with a disgusted look.

"Oh! So you don't think Joan should be helping me?"

"No… I mean… well… I notice she's been driving you about, and so forth." He looked away stiffly.

"Well, she'd done a hell of a lot more than you have, Martin!"

"Louisa, you said… if you'll let…" His mobile rang and he answered swiftly. "Ellingham." He listened. "Alright. Yes. Yes. Come to the surgery. Right."

I looked at Martin the father of my child and I wondered how we'd gotten so far apart. Two feet between us and the gulf was wide and getting bigger.

"Have to go." He picked up his black bag, the one that had done all the damage.

"Yeah."

"Goodbye." Martin turned and walked around the corner.

He left a vacuum in his wake and it hurt. Things get broken; hips – hearts too.

I peered into Mr. Routledge's cottage through a dirty cracked window at the clutter inside. I ran a finger across the crack in the pane and felt a slice as the glass cut my finger. I watched the blood well out slowly from the tiny cut and drip to the ground. Good thing Martin didn't see this! He'd be puking away right this moment.

I tossed the heavy brass key in my hand, patted my belly and spoke to it. "We have a home again, little baby. Our home." I took the door knob in hand, turned it and stepped inside.

**Authors Notes:**

**An interruption to explain what I am up to, if you had wondered!**

**Season 4 of Doc Martin was tough to take for me, and if you feel like I do you may agree there was a lot of silence, confusion, and anger which was not explained either through action or dialogue. Louisa has a secret and a plan, stemming from her relationship with Martin, but the non-wedding occurred and she left town. Now she must return to Portwenn and going to the one person that she thinks she can trust, her plan falls apart as soon as Martin opens his surgery door. If only…**

**Martin has a secret and a plan. His secret is that with Louisa gone from Portwenn he is thinking of leaving, when out of the sky drops his old flame from medical school. Who immediately starts pushing him to get back to London, where she and perhaps he, thinks he belongs. But when a certain school teacher arrives bearing a burden, things go awry. If only…**

**Nations, peoples, and relationships can rise and fall because of the impact of a handful of words. Words that are either ****said**** or ****unsaid****. **

**As I watched episode 1 of this season, and Louisa marched back down the hill with Martin following her with his eyes, I wanted to know a few things. What is SHE thinking? What is HE thinking? And as the tale progressed what does HE think about Edith. What does Louisa think about Edith? **

**This tortured triangle (well actually rectangle if you include a certain in-utero baby) is so ripe with drama, that the show's writers just had to throw it in our faces. Good for them and their creative skills, but it sure makes it hard on the rest of us! If the inhabitants of the village of Portwenn actually sat down and talked things through, it would be a very short TV series, wouldn't it! And that is the Portwenn magic isn't it? Compelling, interesting, infuriating, sweet, dramatic, romantic, and comedic all rolled together in this ITV production.**

**This tale of mine is trying to stick to the canon and attempts to look into the off-camera actions of our heroes and heroines and along the way try to answer those questions I asked myself.**

**DOC MARTN is owned by Buffalo Productions and I thank them for allowing me to borrow their creations and play with them a bit.**

**And before you panic and think the mad American bloke is totally off his rocker to leave you parked at this point in Season 4, NO, I am not done. Not yet!**

**Stay tuned, if you please. **

**Cheers, Rob**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22 – Making a Home

Most of the trash went straight to bin and a few furniture items had to go to the tipp. It was as I thought – a good cleaning and Mr. Routledge's cottage was almost fit to live in. There was a lingering odor of old man, beer, and God knows what, but at least you could walk straight though it all and not stumble over piles of magazines and papers.

The loo needed work, the water heater was a bit wonky, and the cooker didn't always work just right. I was searching for someone to set those right.

I'd boxed up his clothing, what there was of it, after I thoroughly washed it. It gave me insight to the life of an old man who had never married, although he had told me he had a way with the ladies over the years. His worn boxers and vests, and a tatty pile of holed socks made me ashamed when I washed it. I marched myself to the store and picked up some replacements for the old man. No one, and I mean no one, should not be cared for in old age.

The old things went to the bin, so at least he had a fresh start after he went from rehabilitation to Tree Tops, the nursing center. Judy Mills' mum had errands to run in Wadebridge so she kindly dropped me off at hospital to see him. He was just as cantankerous and grumpy as before his hip was broken.

"You know, Lisa," he began, "I was thinking that maybe the old hip getting broken was a good thing!"

I shifted on the plastic visitor's chair, trying to get comfortable. It was hard with my belly in the way, my feet were swollen, I had a pain in my lower back that felt like the world's worst, and I had to wee. But I tried to at least _look_ cheery for him. "A good thing, you say?"

"Aye. They been feedin' me right regular, a warm sponge bath – and pretty nurses – every day!" He shifted in the bed. "Course I did have to have surgery, but the docs here, said our Doc Martin was right. It WAS a broken femoral neck, whatever that is. I guess I was wrong about him."

"About Doctor Ellingham?"

"Yeah. He's a pain in the arse but he does know his medicine! You didn't bring me any Jelly Babies did you?"

"Oh, forgot. Sorry."

His liver-spotted hand patted my swollen one. "That's alright, luv. But like I said, Doc Martin is alright in my book. Why if it wasn't for him, who knows might have happened to me?"

The scene of Mr. Routledge tripping over Martin's large medical case and crashing to the floor came to me head. "Yeah, right." I tried to change the subject. "I'll bring you more clothes when I come next time, and take back these old things to be cleaned. That ok?"

He smiled. "Lisa, thank you. I been on my own so long… well, you know." He looked away. "I guess you know a bit about being alone, now don't you?"

It was then my turn to look away. "What do you mean?"

He looked back at me. "Well… I mean… with your baby and all." His lips trembled. "Listen, Lisa. A long time ago there was this girl, Amelia was her name, or was it Emily? I forget – been too long. But she was this lovely girl, and she wanted to marry, but her da didn't think I made a good enough wage, you see. I got a second job, and tried to save up a bit, but when the fishing fleet got so low, well, the shop sold a lot less and…"

"You didn't marry her," I finished for him.

"You got it right. She married old Bill Grylls; they had that farm out the Moor Road. I seen her a few times over the years and all. They grew a fine family – two girls and a boy." He stopped and gulped. "They coulda' been mine."

A sob welled up but I swallowed it. "I see," was all I could say.

"Then the kids grew up, old Bill died, and she moved to Exeter to live with her daughter," He sighed and wiped an eye then grabbed my hand hard. "_Lisa_. Even an old fool _like me_ can see that's there something between you and that tosser Doc Martin, and I don't mean just that babe you're carryin' either."

In a panic I stood to go, but he held my hand tightly.

"Lisa – don't…" he turned to the wall, "end up like me."

"Right," I blurted out and rushed to the door. In the hallway I leaned against the wall and felt the room spin a few times, and my breathing was fast. I slid along the wall until I got to a couch and heavily sat. A nurse hurried by, but stopped and peered at me.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Fine. I'm fine. Just…" I put a hand on my belly, "tired. You know."

She smiled sweetly with blue eyes in a golden face, framed by blonde curls. "Oh, yeah. I'm just back to work after having my fourth. Those babies tire me out something fierce. But that's the way it works!" she ended with a laugh.

I tried to smile at her perky face. _She's had four? My goodness! _"Yes, it is, isn't it?" I checked my watch. "Oh, my ride will be here soon," I said trying to deflect the subject.

"You're alright, then?"

I struggled out of the couch, which was one that cunningly put your bum lower than your knees when you sat. The nurse helped me up. "Sure. Just biology."

She laughed out load. "Don't you ever forget that we woman are tough. Have to be. There's no way the MEN could have any of what we go through!" She patted my arm and marched away.

I waddled down the hall thinking. Just how many babies did I hope, or plan to, to have? The nurse had four. If I was lucky I'd have just this one, and it certainly seemed that I'd be raising it on my own. Martin wanted nothing to do with me. _But Louisa, didn't you tell the man, I"LL TAKE CARE OF IT? _Hung by my own words.

Martin's yell echoed through my head. "_Oh, I SEE! It's your baby when it suits you, but it's OUR baby when you need medical help!"_

Not just medical help, Martin. Not at all. I wandered from the building in a daze, just as Mrs. Mills pulled up.

I pulled myself into her car.

"You alright? You look pale, dear!" She tapped the seat harness and watched me close the door and belt in.

"Fine," I got out through clenched teeth. "Just fine."

"Hm," she answered. "If that's what you say."

"Yeah, I do," I answered. "We're tough."

Mrs. Mills laughed. "Yeah, we have to be."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23 – The Letter

I'd just returned from Routledge's smelly cottage, after Auntie Joan called me in a panic to check on Louisa. The foolish woman had been moving a sofa for God's sake! Since her blood pressure was normal, I could only diagnose overwork and recommend – no order her – to reduce her work days from five to three. Not that one extremely stubborn female would listen to my advice, medical or otherwise!

Louisa's blood pressure may have been normal, but mine was not. I'd trotted up Fore Street at full steam, fearing the worst. With that adrenaline rush, and the harsh words that I had with Louisa and Joan, my pulse was pounding, my vest and boxers were soaked in sweat, and my attitude was black. Foolish women! God I hate it when I get called for help that is not needed. One of the major detriments of this stupid sodding village is there are those who think I am here as the GP to service every single little bump and pimple, yet when major medical advice is required they totally ignore it! Idiots all!

I thumped my medical case onto the counter and picked up the mail Pauline had dropped onto the desk. The one with the Imperial College crest and address jumped into my hands, I slit it open and in one gulp read the contents.

As I suspected they would, the selection officer was most interested in interviewing me. I quickly folded the letter back into thirds and tucked it into my desk, as an old man in a wheelchair entered pushed by an equally elderly woman into my consulting room.

I pushed the excitement I felt about the Imperial letter into a handy compartment in my head and dealt with the patient.

Mr. McLynn was less than forthcoming about his impairments, and I found his wife to be officious, obfuscating, and rude. Both seemed to be hiding something – something not related to the examination for a medical parking permit. They quickly flew away, with the man screaming about how I was a sadist. If I'd wanted to hurt the man, I could have done it in any number of ways that would be far less obvious then jamming a neurological pin into the palm of his hand. McLynn gave as good as he got as it took me some moments to swallow the hot bile that rushed towards my mouth at the sight of only a few drops of blood from the puncture.

Imperial wanted me to be a surgeon again, yet just a few drops of blood almost made me vomit.

Before I could consider the exquisite irony, Mr. Sands who was head of the school Board of Governors came to tell me there was a meeting Thursday to consider the applicants for a head teacher, given that Mr. Strain was still under treatment for his porphyria. It turned out that Strain also had an underlying persecution complex that was complicating his recovery – so he was well out of the head teacher's job.

Sands told me that there were three candidates for the head teacher; Louisa and two others. He was shocked when I told him I'd not vote for Louisa, as she was pregnant.

"You can't say that!" he shouted back at me. "It's illegal! You can't disqualify someone because she's expecting!"

"I have said it."

Louisa had just proven that if she couldn't even set up a new cottage, there was no way at all that she'd be able to be both head teacher _and_ a mother. Carrying the baby inside her was vastly different from caring for the baby _after_ the birth.

Sands stormed out, no happier than when he'd come in. The cheek of the man to assume that I'd support Louisa merely because of our liaison! Did no one understand that because I once… loved her… I'd treat her less factually? That I would let emotion govern my actions? The calculating surgeon's eye in me would not die that easily, if ever. Facts were facts. If Louisa was the best candidate, in spite of her current circumstances, that was one thing. But I'd not seen so yet.

Next in was Sally, the secretary from the school, and she was asking about hay fever, but the rash on her pudgy neck drew my attention like a magnet. But like a lot of my erstwhile patients, she scurried off like a cockroach when I wanted to examine her.

Blasted people. All of them! I opened the desk drawer and read the letter from Imperial slowly and completely. Although I had quickly grasped the contents before, I read it twice through. It seemed both genuine and desirable.

So far my experiments with raw beef liver, a bloody steak, and my own fingers had been less than fruitful in conquering the haemophobia. In many ways I viewed the case as Edmund Hillary must have looked on Mt. Everest – hard, icy and implacable. Everest was considered not climbable; too tall, too tough, not enough air.

I considered picking up a scalpel, and after swabbing my fingertip with disinfectant, slicing my middle finger. If I was to go to Imperial, I had to climb my own Everest. But something caught my eye. The drawer in the desk was still open, and there sat the small thermal copy of Louisa's first ultrasound. The scan showed a medial semi-section of the foetal head with a tiny bridgeless nose and a fuzzy hand in front.

The scan was from about the twenty-seventh week, so the major organs were all well-formed, merely awaiting further maturation and development. Fat stores would be almost non-existent, and the skin would be red and almost transparent, ripe with blood vessels. Louisa's face came to mind. Would our baby look like her, or me, or more likely some combination of us?

Poor child. It would be marked by the blasted Ellingham genes for the rest of its days. Just like me.

The baby will be here in Portwenn with its mother. But where would I be? Would I be here in the village tormented by Louisa each time I saw her, or would I be in London, a surgeon once again? The letter from Imperial was both salvation and sentence. But whether I was in Portwenn or London my personal torment would not likely end.

Seeing Louisa, just knowing she was here, and pregnant with our baby, was maddening. I was so worried about her health, and the baby… My words to her today were harsh. Too rude. Far too Doctor Martin Ellingham-like to be considered helpful or useful. There she is trying to cope in the smelly old cottage while I sit here painfully at a loss to close the gap. But she said to me that _she would take care of it._

I sadly looked at the ultra-sound. The letter went back in the drawer and I called out, "Next patient!"


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – Nadir

"What I don't need and will never need from you…" I gasped, "is any kind of help!" I threw my hands up to my face and tried to cover my eyes and mouth. _My god Louisa, did you just say that AND mean it?_

Yes, girl you do mean it! Once and for all and not at all happy about it. But there it was – the bald truth – full and entire. Strip all the bark away and there you have it exposed to the daylight.

Martin stood there with a concerned look, my forceful words clearly taking him off guard. When I gave him a blast about the way he'd been criticizing me before the Board of Governors, I had fire in my eyes. Unfortunately I was taken aback when I realized that Dr. Montgomery was there as well, and that took some of the wind from my sails.

His mouth moved and I braced myself for a typical Martin bombast.

"Then _why_ are you crying?" he asked. He didn't shout or yell; just asked the question and I realized that it was his mostly all-too logical way of asking for information.

That was it, the very moment, looking back, when it all fell into place. Why was I crying? Was it for my pregnancy and lack of support from the father? That I wasn't married? That Martin and I would NEVER be together? My uncertain job situation? The smelly plumbing situation at the cottage? That was one huge worry but Al Large was sorting out the ancient piping, removing clogs, repairing the loo and the boiler. The price was right too, but I had a funny feeling that I might regret using his services. But I just did not have the money at the moment to hire a professional.

There _were_ tears in my eyes, snot in my nose, and I was on the edge, right on the edge of letting it all go - all my worries, uncertainties, loneliness, fears, and a giant list of single things. Just let it all out, and ask him…

But the look of oh-so pompous and chauvinistic Doctor Martin Ellingham stopped me.

Besides, when I was shouting at Martin from the doorway, I realized that Edith was sitting at the kitchen table. Our table – the one where we first snogged; and it really got under my skin that she was sitting where I once had and should now be sitting. But I wasn't sitting there. I was toe-to-toe with Martin like boxers about to square off – as indeed we were.

I had shouted at him _I never thought that you and I could be together! _The words rang through my head. That was a lie, but a necessary one. It was no good to tell Martin about every tear I had shed about our failures – and they were many – too many to count.

But there was no way back. He had broken my trust. I had trusted that he would help me, at least in some way, but he clearly didn't care. Not about me. Maybe about the baby but it would be reduced to medical issues and how much monetary support he'd have to provide until the child was eighteen years old.

I didn't love him now, if I ever did. When I thought about it that way, it finally made sense. Martin was _not_ a person I could love. Not forever. There were too many irritating and awful things about him that I would want to, no, _need to_ change. And he would not change – he'd fight me every step of the bloody way. I didn't have the energy for it. I'd miss the snogging, and any infrequent love making, but not his critical and snarky remarks, but damn it I would cope. Dad had to be a single parent, and so could I. I was tough - tough as nails. So be it.

I dropped my hands, wiping a few tears from my cheeks, inhaled the snot from the nose and opened my mouth to answer him. "I'm not crying," I said, and this time it was true.

I left the cottage feeling like Martin and our failed engagement was jetsam from a ship – something I had to throw overboard and sail away from as fast as possible. And I'd sail faster and better for the loss. It hurt, but not as much as the hurt of trying to hang on to it.

The slam of the door as I pulled it closed behind me may have sounded like a door to him, but to me it was freedom.

0000000

Edith popped in to my kitchen three days after the disastrous blow-up with Louisa. I was in no mood to see her, but she was all smiles and bright eyes. She'd brought a bottle of elderflower nonsense to celebrate the acceptance of her paper and they wanted her to be the keynote speaker to boot at some stuffy conference in Exeter.

The liquid was just as ghastly as I feared thusly proving that even non-alcoholic beverages can taste bloody awful. I'll stick to water from now on.

She was quite pleased when I told her that Robert at Imperial Hospital was going to interview me in two weeks' time.

She carried a small green and white collapsible cooler with her and I was floored, literally, as I squeezed the small bag inside.

Her ever so thoughtful gift was an expired unit of blood. I managed one quick look and next I knew I was flat on my back with Edith hovering over me. "Ellingham, you have to get this taken care of!"

The fuzziness of my faint passed away quickly and I knew she was right.

"If you ever wish to get to London…" she started as I levered myself off the slate and went out the front door for air and clarity.

I stood thus most evenings, looking over the harbor, the higgledy-piggledy houses with black and grey roofs and white-washed walls. This evening the sky was clear and blue, the ocean gentle, and as I looked across the way, to the cottage where Louisa was now living I knew it was over - the very end.

Dealing with obtuse and ignorant patients, who were far more interested in spreading rumors than helping one another; who didn't seem to give a whit about medical care for themselves. Seemed a waste of time.

I sighed. My words haunted me. _Louisa, marry me, I can't live without you._ I must have been mad to ask her, and she was equally mad to reply in the affirmative. Bodmin both of us. Well when I was in London I'd not ever use that backward bumpkin word again.

London - the capital of the nation - and heart of my former world. I took another breath to clear the cobwebs and regret from my mind. Some would not readily clear out though.

Images of the village, blood on a slate floor with Delf bleeding out from a torn brachial artery, Peter Cronk in the ambulance, Mark Mylow and Julie, Pauline snogging with Al on my kitchen table, Bert Large sitting on a bucket and holding forth with his home grown philosophy as the surgery flooded, a smiling Auntie Joan holding her smelly dog, cockamamie Penhale, plus images of Louisa flew through my head.

Louisa scowling, crying, yelling, on her bike, smiling, hiking past the surgery, laughing, pregnant at the surgery door, flashed away like some manic PowerPoint presentation superimposed on the sunny harbor below.

And Louisa with a stricken look coming into the surgery in her wedding dress, her regretful look as she walked away, telling me that she loved me, in my arms, and later that she didn't need me – not for anything. The Ellingham armor flew into place trapping in the pain I felt. A more emotional man would have screamed or cried or rushed headlong off the cliff mere steps before me.

But _no_. That was not what I would or could do. If Louisa had no wish for any aspect of help in any way from me, then she would have it. I would acquiesce to her wishes, having no further desire to hurt her. I owed her that much.

I had heard that she was now the permanent head teacher from Sally Chadwick, that stupid woman who had paid good money to receive a tattoo, then had tried to scrub it off giving herself an infection in the process. Thus her odd rash and strange respiratory symptoms. The Board of Governors had cunningly worked their schedule to exclude me from their vote. So be it. I should have no worries then on Louisa's need for more than basic child support in the money department. The Portwenn school paid the head quite well and I was certain, in spite of my qualms about her health, she would be a superb head teacher, unlike the unfortunate Mr. Strain. Whether she would have the strength to do both job and perform as a single parent I doubted.

There was only one thing to be done. All I had to do was to retrain myself to stay calm and not faint, puke, or get the shakes when I saw a perfectly natural thing – human circulatory fluid. Something every doctor and _surgeon_ needed to see. There was no doubt that Imperial would offer me a job. I just had to steel myself to the task.

I came to realize that Edith stood beside me.

"Ellingham," she held out a card, which I took. "This is the therapist I spoke of."

I took the card from her and she leaned over and kissed me. Quite a surprise and I stood dumbfounded as she drove away. Too many times I have watched women walk or drive away down this bloody hill. No more. I hefted the card and read the name. I sighed. Probably rubbish but if there was a ghost of a chance I would take it.

Edith's cautious invitation I should attend her talk in Exeter seemed innocuous enough. But this was the second time she'd kissed me. And lately when she spoke to me in person, she'd developed a habit of lowering the volume of her voice and leaning towards me, taking a half step in the process. Strange. And when I was editing her presentation she kept brushing her hand against my leg. Awkward and embarrassing.

Surely she wasn't… no, not possible. Not Edith Montgomery. I had no interest in her at all that way, in spite of our dalliances long ago. Rubbish!

The harbor was quiet, even the seagulls stilling their cries this evening. The village was filled with walkers heading to the cliffs or to pubs but something was missing. It wasn't the air, or the sea, or the people. Not the houses or Large's Restaurant or Penhale's Rover on the Platt. I took a breath and the air smelled the same.

The difference was in me. I no longer felt the chance of possibility.

Portwenn didn't feel like home anymore. It was time to leave.

0000000

I was in the street talking to Al and Pauline as they sat on Pauline's new motor scooter. Al had apologized for allowing rumors about the two of us (absolutely absurd) to swirl, and even Pauline was mollified that it was just mean gossip. More girl-pack in action.

We were standing there laughing, although Al's aside about me being fat, I corrected him as _enormous_, did sting. But that's way these things go.

A car approached – Edith's black Audi. It slowed as it crept past and Edith peered out at me with an odd little smile as it went by. I caught another glimpse in her rearview mirror, and her smile smacked of triumph.

Now what was that supposed to mean? I'd felt a chill as she drove off, and it wasn't from a cool breeze.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 – Obligations

Theo Wenn's parents had spared no effort in making him the perfect image of themselves – vain, self-centered, and so selfish it was beyond belief. Dealing with this sick child, his horrible parents and everything else had been difficult.

It had been a very hard two weeks. It started with an excellent interview with Robert at Imperial Hospital in London. The sky was blue that day and my spirits rose as I strode along the Queen's Walk. I felt good, wonderful, and the walk made me quite confident. The bit of blood I saw as Robert finished surgery didn't even bother me, although I had chosen to skip breakfast that morning.

On the train back to Portwenn that stupid oaf Jim Selkirk sat down next to me humming, eating crisps, and swilling a beer, just before he died of a coronary. I could only pull the emergency signal and deal with the conductor and emergency responders. As the ambulance pulled away from the siding my mobile rang and Louisa alerted me to the breathing incident that started the entire chicken coop problem.

Doctor Milligan was far younger than I expected and although he seemed to be confident that psycho-analytical claptrap would help my haemophobia. His attempt to have me playact my way through surgery left me speechless. I left his office feeling no better for the experience. Milligan claimed I was derailing the session on purpose. Little did he know that I was starting to suffer a small panic attack right in front of him.

That took me back to the village and the path report that Pauline read me clinched the facts. Aunty Joan's unfortunate action of locking the unruly Theo into her chicken hut had not made him sick. Panicked the child yes, but not infected him.

Theo lay on his bed with a sickly expression, but his eyes had a spark of life, as he fired another pea at me from the shooter clutched in his hand.

I sneered at the boy, as he put the shooter to his lips and started gasping. Those sneaky eyes turned to alarm. I heard a panicky gasp as his airway closed on the pea. I flipped his skinny body over and pounded on his back until the pea flew out into my hand.

I next ruined the luncheon party of his parents and their smarmy friends with the revelation that their au pair was infected with a very nasty Central American organism, ameobiasis, who had then infected their son with it. A lack of personal hygiene got the infection started and the girl passed it on all too easily by not washing her hands. As I left the Wenn's house, with startled parents and guests in my wake, I felt like I should go back to the surgery, strip off and take a long hot shower and wash my shoes with disinfectant.

But my obligation to the patient overrode my personal feelings about his rotten behavior, and his terrible parents who were far more concerned about their business problems than caring for their child.

Aunty Joan spoke words to me that cut to the core. "You're definition of family isn't even in the dictionary." She spoke these hurtful words as I rolled up my blood pressure cuff, as she had fainted a few days back as PC Penhale questioned her. Joan seemed to be alright, but her financial problems did worry me. I noticed that certain bits of furniture in her house had disappeared, I presumed to the jumble shop and the brake lights on her truck were still not repaired.

She also told me that she'd been borrowing money from the bank, and I resolved to pay them a visit and see how much she owed. Perhaps I could help her. Joan's idea of family might be one thing, and mine another, but I would help her.

I walked from the Wenn's disease filled house and found Louisa heading up the walk.

"They've got me delivering school work!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah."

"Got the right shoes on!" she said and showed off her matching shoes. Unbelievably she smiled at me.

We had quarreled terribly last week nearly in this very spot and our mutual anger and frustration with the Wenn's had spread into our personal hell. I called her emotional due to hormonal imbalance. Of course, she bristled and called me unemotional.

She finished with "Why don't you complain to your friend Edit? I'm sure she's the type who wouldn't let annoying things like emotions get in the way. I'd rather be hormonally imbalanced than cold, prickly and intimidating! So if that makes you feel better, then good for you!" She ended on a shout.

She had whirled about and left, ponytail flying about, handbag swinging, and mis-matched shoes clip-clopping on the pavement.

Yet here we were commiserating with another about how awful Theo's parents were.

"Sooner or later they'll have to," I began.

"Take responsibility for their own boy," Louisa finished for me, as I said the exact same words.

Louisa gave me a look of embarrassment and I know I must have looked just the same.

She dressed in a sort of wrap-top maternity blouse, blue pants, and beige shoes. The shoes were some kind of flat affair. No laces, and not very practical for support of the arch, but likely practical for a pregnant women to put on and off easily. The bulge of pregnancy removing any possibility of bending forward, having no waist to speak of.

Louisa wore her hair pulled into a ponytail and it was glossy and a beautiful dark brown which set off her blue eyes.

She gave me a rueful look and turned towards the Wenn house to deliver the schoolwork. I knew that she'd make the best of it inside. She'll be polite, direct, even apologetic, and I could only imagine the chaos in the dining room as their guests tried to depart quickly. I'd taken no prisoners and Louisa would march straight on into the mess.

She had an obligation to the boy, to maintain his schooling through the sickness. She would be fine though. She'll breeze in and out keeping her composure, unlike me who felt that my obligation to my patients began and ended with only their medical care.

I thought back to surgery. My patients then were unconscious, totally unaware as sliced into their innards. Thusly limiting my interactions with them to a brief consultation before surgery and even less time after.

But I was obligated to provide the care, not make them feel better about it.

Mrs. Selkirk Lyme disease induced hallucinations of her dead husband came to mind as well. If I had only questioned her more fully, I might have sorted that before she fell in the sheep pen and was injured. Now the woman will be telling everyone that her dead Jim was a better doctor than the GP.

Louisa stopped briefly, and I thought she would speak. The rueful grin came and went again. I nodded apologetically and she went to the house and knocked on the door.

I didn't trust myself to call her name. I should have and explained to her… well, what would you say to the woman Martin? Sorry I got you pregnant? Sorry I asked you to marry and didn't follow through? Or worse, sorry I made myself believe that I loved you? That I was wrong? Wrong about all of it? Sorry that I've caused such pain?

I sighed. We all have obligations and responsibilities, don't we? Louisa to her students and their parents no matter how horrid they behaved. Me to the patients of the village even when I could not stand them, their quirks, smells, and their words.

Robert would expect me to be the best surgeon at Imperial Hospital that I could be. I'd have to make that happen. As I walked away, I glanced back at Louisa going into the Wenn's cluttered house. Louisa, I have a responsibility to you too. Obligations as well.

I wonder how much money I will have to provide all together so she can raise our baby? After all, I will be in London.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26 – Changing

As Theo Wenn lay kicking and thrashing about on the ground of Joan Norton's chicken yard two weeks back, Martin said something terribly frightening. "As a boy I spent plenty of time locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Never did me any harm!"

What gave me pause was that he said it in such a way that he apparently accepted this as normal and acceptable. Locked under the stairs, like some earlier version of the young fictional Harry Potter?

I was at the Wenn's house, where there was trouble afoot. Martin had dropped his bombshell about Theo's and their maid's amoebic infections, so their luncheon guests scattered like leaves before a strong wind. And to boot, their monetary problems were now doubled as their hopes of a juicy payout from Joan Norton were dashed as the chicken coop incident did not cause Theo's illness and their hoped for moneyed benefactors had flown.

Surprisingly it was Richard Wenn who rose to the fore and started acting like an adult. When I tapped on the front door, it swung open and there he sat on the stairs with head in hands. He snuffled and wiped his face as I entered.

"Mr. Wenn, whatever is the…"

"Me, Juliet, the boy, we're sorry…" he started to say and I heard screaming and crashing in the background. "Give me a moment, please." He stood, straightened his yachting jacket and disappeared into the rear of the house.

I heard harsh words, another crash, and he came back bearing Juliet Wenn before him, who carried a stricken look on her shrewish face, but cracks were showing.

"Go on, Juliet!" he said. "Tell her!"

"But, Richard, how was I to know? And what about the money…"

"Damn it, Juliet! Say it! The hell with the money! We'll have to stand up and be responsible; declare bankruptcy if that's what it will take. Now here is Miss Glasson, so…"

She turned her eyes to me and they were red, frightened, scared. "Louisa… I'm…"

"For God's sake, go on!" he shouted at her.

"Miss. Glasson, I am so very sorry, for all, the erh…" she looked at her husband. "The bad things I said about you, and Dr. Ellingham, and about Joan Norton too. You see… what with the money problems, and all, and well there was Theo so sick, and it just had to be…" she stopped and Richard shook her.

He finished for her. "Miss Glasson, what Juliet is trying to say is that we are both so very sorry. And we'll see that Theo does the schoolwork…"

"Fine," I answered him. "Don't worry. No bother."

"See, Richard?" said the wife. "It's ok."

"But I do think you should go and see Joan Norton and say these things to her," I added. "After all she was the one who got so upset… and you did threaten to sue the poor woman."

"Upset, yes. We shall, won't we Juliet?" He stuck out my hand and I took it. "We've been all at sixes-and-sevens with the business, and…"

I held up the three workbooks and some handouts, the schoolwork I was bringing. "So, shall I take these up to Theo, then?"

Richard released my hand and took them into his own. "No, thank you. I think this is something we need to start doing ourselves."

Their au pair breezed past then with a jumper on and her handbag swinging madly. "I told you I wasn't feeling well! Did you believe me? NO! Now you want to sack me?" the young woman's lip curled. "Well you can both go and sod off! Stuck up tossers!"

She made for the door, but I was in the way along with a rack of wire rope, cable, and small buoys.

"Do you mind?" the au pair snarled.

"Sorry," I managed to say and stepped to the side.

"No wait!" Richard called. "I'm sorry, really sorry. Look, we do need your help here, and I'll pay you extra… if you stay!"

"Richard!" shouted Juliet. "Do we have enough?"

He looked at her. "Juliet, I fear the twice a week pedicure and my fancy Internet service will end and straight away. We just can't continue acting that we can go on as if we have all the money in the world, now can we? Good front and all that, but…"

The young woman regarded them. "You can pay me, right? Seems you didn't give me my cheque last week…"

Richard scooped out his wallet and thrust a stack of pounds into her hand. "Here. Now if you can keep an eye on Theo, Juliet and I will go to the chemist to get those prescriptions filled and make a trip out to Havenhurst farm. Have to go and see Mrs. Norton, you see." He looked hard at Juliet. "Make amends."

I stood there trying to keep a straight face, but I guess my surprise showed. "Well then, if you don't need me for Theo… I'll be off." I twisted my handbag. "Got things to do, you know." I tiptoed away from the tableaux and carefully shut the door.

I took a breath of clean air and it made me feel better. I didn't like conflict; not in my students, or their parents, or the village. I marched my matched shoes one after the other away from the house and thought that people, even the Wenn family, can change.

But what Martin had said at Joan's stuck in my head. So, Martin was apparently abused by his parents. That might explain a few things. His shyness when it came to certain human relations, his rudeness to everyone mostly and his superior attitude, which I think is just a big front. He's hiding in there – inside his head. Public school was certainly no fun for him. No friends, no family… my belly thumped just then.

Can babies sense what their mothers are feeling or thinking? "Martin you do have a family, as fractured as it is," I said. I stopped walking and put both hands on my belly. I pushed on it in a bit of a hug and the kicks increased, then slowed. I stroked the taut fabric of my shirt. "Sh… sh…" I said. "It's alright. Nothing's wrong."

I looked towards the harbor. "You have a family, babe. You have _me_. I'm your mother… and you have a _father_ too. He's just a little distant at the moment."

I finished my walk back home arriving calm and rested in some way. As I unlocked the door, I thought back to the night Martin and I made love for the first time; the day were got engaged.

He was so nervous, so shaking at times, yet weren't you too, Louisa? Yes, I was. Nervous. Uncertain, yet oh so happy.

The buttons on his shirt were a struggle and you laughed then. That made him laugh, too. He then leaned over and we kissed.

"Oh, Louisa, I do love you," he said pulling away a bit as his shirt went flying as you tugged on it.

And later, when he took you in his arms, and you held him so close, you felt a tear drip down his cheek and it wasn't yours, now was it? _He_ was the one crying; if only a little.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27 - Imagine

The voice of Dr. Marcel Milligan came from the CD player, his young voice calm, soothing, and yet commanding. "Imagine you are in the operating theater. The patient is ready; draped and prepped for surgery. The surgical assistants and nurses stand ready to do your bidding. And you are in calm and in control…"

I slowly dipped my fingers into the stainless steel basin and touched the beef liver which I had heated in warm water to human body temperature. I picked up the scalpel and sliced into the soft flesh. Blood pooled on the surface of the soft mass as I dissected out a major artery. The tissue was soft, slippery, bloody, yet I _was_ in control. No nausea, no bile burning into my throat tissues, no Palmer sweating or fainting. I was in command, focused on the task at hand and it felt good. It felt _the way it should be. The way I should be. _

I looked away at the CD machine to adjust the volume and returning my left hand to the basin, I bumped it, and it flew off the shed table to the floor. The steel pan bonged and rang, hurting my ears, until the entire shed was vibrating in time with it and I felt intense nausea…

I gasped and awoke. I was in bed, upstairs at the surgery, not in the garden shed. The clock read 3 AM and the cottage was empty but for me and my frantic heart. I put a hand to my forehead and it came away perfectly dry, though. I sniffed my armpits and detected no smell of perspiration.

The cottage was silent. No gossiping patients clamoring for attention, no Pauline bugging me about my attempts to do my own blood draws, no Auntie Joan asking me to keep an eye on Louisa, no Louisa…

No Louisa. She's not here, not in the cottage. She's across the village harbor, in Routledge's smelly old cottage. She's pregnant, alone, but now on the mend after the misadventure of the midwife preventing her from taking antibiotics for her urinary tract infection. A close call as the delay nearly caused kidney involvement.

Louisa had shouted at the silly woman. "I am not a victim! Martin is a very good doctor!"

The midwife, Molly O'Brian had bristled. "This is just another sign of male domination…"

"No it's not! It's you have the problem with sex… I mean gender! I know you're tried your best, but it wasn't enough."

The woman marched out, slamming the door and I looked hard at Louisa, who had defended me fully and stated the one thing that I am proud of - being a doctor. Nothing else in my entire unpleasant life meant as much.

Being a doctor was all that I was good at. Fixing damaged clocks was just a hobby and one that was damned difficult. But the doctor thing…

When my mum would lock me under the stairs in the cupboard there, I used to imagine that I was with Edmund Hillary and Tensing Norgay on Everest. Our tiny tent was being battered by the storm and darkness was all about. But tomorrow morning, we'd make our assault on the final pitch, through the rotten ice and shifting rock to the summit.

Or I'd dream I was with Don Walsh aboard the _USS Trieste,_ a bathyscaph, at the bottom of the Challenger Deep, the deepest point of all the oceans; 36,000 feet down - nearly 11 kilometers under the sea. We were the deepest men alive. The external pressures were tremendous down there and looking out at the deepest point we saw only a yellow mud bottom, and a half-seen fish started and swam away as we touched down.

Or I was the backup driver for Donald Campbell as he piloted _Bluebird K7_ across Coniston Water to a record speed. And many others I would dream.

And best of all was that I was a top-notch surgeon, applying my skills to save the sick and dying. Standing at my elbow was my father, Dr. Christopher Ellingham, and as he peered over my shoulder into the surgical cavity exclaimed "Tricky bit that, Martin. Jolly good!" He'd clap me on the shoulder then depart, knowing that I was better than him.

Imagine _you_ are in control; the words of Milligan rang in my head. There was so little I WAS in control of in Portwenn. Not Pauline, the village or my patients, even Edith or Louisa. If I had a dog, smelly creature, _it_ would be controlling _me_.

Imagine then, Ellingham, I thought to myself, that you are in London working at Imperial College. All was in readiness as you enter the theater.

I had breakfast with Auntie Joan and I told her that the job in London was mine and I was leaving near the end of the month. Jeffrey Rushton was leaving Imperial on the 31st, and they wanted me to start straight away, or so Edith Montgomery had passed on. Having missed Robert Dashwood's luncheon visit, and having apparently dodged his eye-to-eye question about my haemophobia, I had the job.

I didn't know that right away as I had responded to Bert Large's call that his cook's husband was quite ill. Appropriately enough they lived on Bodmin Moor, and I'm quite sure that Edith thought I had gone completely bodmin for attending to a patient, rather than her stuffy lunch.

Bodmin. Surely someone who ate road kill or carrion must be bodmin, and they were odd people. The badger hanging in the kitchen cupboard was a certain source of the cerebral toxoplasmosis with which the man and Marigold were infected. The look on Bert's face as I asked him if he had served any of this offal at the restaurant or if Louisa had eaten there was quite serious.

"We don't serve no badger at my restaurant! And we never will! And, no, Miss Glasson has not eaten with us." The man looked quite sad as he said this, and there was something else I think he wished to say, just as the emergency staff entered the house.

I shook my head in the darkness at the daftness of some local residents. Some were quite canny in justifying their actions. Like how that mad midwife had persuaded Louisa not to take antibiotics. Failure to act on an appropriate course of medical treatment - all for vanity, or hate, or prejudice. Must have been.

A failure to act, like my reluctance to tell Louisa I was leaving for London.

What did Auntie Joan say to me? "Does Louisa know? What about the child? Seeing it as it's growing up?"

"Well. Don't honestly see that I'd be a natural at it and all that, do you, when it came to it?"

Joan had called my bluff. "Well, you're just going to have to work twice as hard at it, won't you?" She followed that with another gem. "A long distance father is better than no father at all!"

When I put two-and-two together, having heard from Mrs. Tishell that Louisa was not taking her medication and that she was off school with "a nasty cold" that had torn it. I'd rushed to her cottage and diagnosed the flaming disease which was starting to wreak further havoc.

So Ellingham, my internal voice asked, _why_ can you so quickly rush in and plop a diagnosis and treatment plan onto a patient with the swiftness of a falcon swooping on a hare yet have not been able to tell Louisa about London? My voiced sneered at me. _Well?_

Perhaps I can imagine the look of hurt on her face as I tell her. Louisa had even come to the cottage tonight to apologize for the antibiotic thing; even that she's to have the baby in the hospital. She looked well. Washed, rested, nearly fit, her cheeks a bit flushed; yet the glow of the pregnancy lit her up like the sun to my eyes. It would be so easy to say the damn words!

Yet when the door chime rang you rushed away and answered it to find Edith telling you that you had the London job. Edith had even told Dashwood that you were over the haemophobia. She had assured him of this.

And all the while you left Louisa standing in the kitchen and she had gone when you returned.

Imagine the look of hurt and disappointment on her face when you do tell her. It will be just as horrible as you can imagine, if not far worse. Her eyes will look away, and she will say "Right. Goodbye, Martin." Then she will go.

That will be the end. No absolution. No going back, Ellingham. She will walk from the cottage, down the hill, and be gone; once again. Just imagine that.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28 – Hoped

When I came back to Portwenn from London, bearing my special burden, as well as a load of heartache, I had hoped that Martin would help me, perhaps even welcome me back. I had laid in my lonely bed sit hugging myself, sobbing uncontrollably when the London school sacked me, well, technically I had quit. The one thing, the one thing I wanted right then was Martin – I wanted Martin to have his arms around me, just holding me. That was what I hoped for. I hoped that Martin would take me back.

_Louisa, you have certainly made a royal mess of that plan, now haven't you?_ Arriving in Portwenn, you went straight away to the surgery, to see Martin, and you did see him. But in the six months you were gone, he'd gotten close to another woman, Doctor Edith Montgomery. Then you had to drag your little suitcase down to the pub, trying to smile all the while, barging in on all your friends, your very pregnant belly telling far more than any words could have. The internal voice went on and on inside my head, retelling every stupid mistake I had made since I came home; every failure in infinite detail.

Each one was replayed where I lost my temper with Martin, or been yelled at in return by him, as well as my most recent blowup with Martin over that mad midwife Molly O'Brian. I finally had seen that _she_ was the problem, not Martin, and the medical advice he'd given me was sound.

I stumbled down Rosscarrock Hill once more, after hearing Edith tell Martin that he had gotten a new job in London at Imperial College. The baby was kicking the hell out of me the entire way and I slumped at last onto the sofa in my cottage, one that I finally was beginning to think of as mine and not as Mr. Routledge's. I looked around my neat, finally clean and lonely lounge, and that's when the tears came. And they came… and when there was nothing left at all I sat there a massive soggy mess until night fell.

I wasn't hungry, thirsty, or even terribly tired as darkness fell. I still had some schoolwork to do - there was less than two weeks in the term until summer break - but I decided I was just too drained; too worn out. I'd work on it in the morning.

I drank a little orange juice, choked down a stale scone and dragged myself up to my bedroom. It was smaller than my old one in White Rose Cottage, which Mr. Strain still held the lease on, although he was in hospital treatment. I missed my old house where my furniture fit so nicely and it was my home. Probably the only place I'd considered my actual home having lived there happily so long. It was hard to remember that happiness – it was before Martin Ellingham came to town. I was young, well established in the village and teaching every weekday, and I wasn't worried, too much, about lack of a boyfriend.

Then came the fateful day that Martin interviewed for the GP job after Doc Sims died. I had never liked the old GP as he always seemed a little splash-dash in his medicine and personal hygiene. Honestly I can't actually say that I had too many health issues in those days, but there was one that was cooking away in the background, well perhaps it was in the foreground as the vision of my right eye would go blurry and I was suffering from headaches.

I didn't like Martin Ellingham when I saw him on the plane – his constant staring convinced me he was a pervert - and I liked him even less when I saw that he was the GP candidate!

That memory made me smile since he had saved my eyesight from glaucoma by his quick and insightful diagnosis. I brushed my teeth and used Listerine then looked long and hard at my two blue eyes, now red rimmed and tired. Eyes that would be damaged now if I hadn't taken that particular flight back from Wales, where I'd taken a few days holiday. And if Martin hadn't looked long and hard, well who knew what might have happened?

I thought how cruel Fate can be, as I stripped off my dress and bra and dressed for bed. The cotton and polyester nightgown was long, felt both soft and silky, and it fell gently over me, my belly caressed by the folds. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror I had Al Large install on the back of the door.

I hoped that things would have gone better with Martin these past few weeks. But he clearly was so cross, so angry with me, and I with him. It was only outside the Wenn's house last week when we both spoke about responsibility that I started to realize that both of us had a lot of growing up to do.

We were clearly adults - adult enough to make a baby - but other times we acted like spoiled children. I hugged my belly and stoked the fabric over it and my hugely swollen baps. In a few weeks this not so little baby will be in my arms, and I had a lot do.

One thing I had to do at present was to let Martin go. I had to be strong. He was going to London; we were switching places. London was his town and Portwenn was mine. And the miles between us in future would make things all the more difficult. But other than exchanging some genetic material eight months back, that seemed to be it. And even that has a massive mistake. A woman's magazine described it as _"a contraceptive failure." _ Too right. We'd used precautions but who knew the "use dates" meant something? I rubbed my enormous belly again.

I'd had a chance with Martin and I had totally and absolutely ruined it. My wishes to change him and the knowledge he would _not_ change, had ruined our chance of a happy marriage. So I ran as far away as I could, within reason. The baby kicked me.

I looked down. "But you were there, weren't you? Even then." I'd run off Danny Steele and pursued Martin, that is, as much as he'd let me. But the man could be so shy, rude, standoffish, so… so Martin. But when he convinced himself to be sweet, boy was he! Those memories would not fade easily, but the thought that I had thrown away that chance… my entire fault.

I really loved Joan Norton, knowing her all my life, and even locking Theo Wenn in the chicken coop I could forgive after a while. But Martin, how can I forgive you?

Another woman, a smart doctor no less, had shown up, and she was on old friend, in fact she was Martin's first love. But I haven't heard or seen any real affection there, and Martin is so private, anything would be out of sight. But Edith clearly was interested in him. My radar went off every time I saw her, and that sweet little superior smile of hers was loaded with venom each time she looked at me. Didn't she understand that Martin didn't want me? That Edith was who he wanted now?

I hugged myself and the mirror image did the same. My eyes were still red-rimmed and worry lines were around them and on my forehead.

I had hoped that Martin would take me back. Not just because of my pregnancy but because _I needed him._ I needed him, unlike what I'd told him the other night. I _did_ need him. God I needed him so much. Tears started again.

Time after time I told Martin that I didn't want his help with the baby or wanted him around. God help me, he believed me. I almost believed it myself, but no more. Those lies I no longer believed.

I had a bigger responsibility to my baby though, so I had to let Martin go; too much damage done. And I hoped to God that I could take the pain.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29 – Disappointments

I cooked the egg for precisely three minutes, scooping it out with a wire mesh snare. Toast went onto a plate and I poured out my tea, which had steeped for exactly four minutes. I sat, prepared to remove the top of the egg, when I knew I had a far more important thing to do than to eat breakfast.

I downed tools, stood and marched from the cottage, knowing that was something I had to do, and this matter with Louisa would not wait any longer.

"Louisa!" I called as I approached my former fiancée and the pregnant mother of our child.

She was standing at the edge of the schoolyard, just outside the gate, and was greeting the students as they arrived, most accompanied by parents.

"Hello, Martin," she answered nonchalantly. She was wearing a blue or purple sort of top and trousers. In a few weeks her due date would roll around, but she looked ready to pop already.

I parked myself in front of her, just four feet or so away. "I know that you heard about my job in London." The words finally came out of my mouth. I felt the fool at this late date telling the woman. There was a tiny voice inside damning me for the long delay. The voice was too right and I was ashamed.

Unbelievably she smiled up at me. "Yes, and that's great news for you. Really, really well done."

I didn't expect this sort of response and I certainly didn't expect to hear congrats from her. In defense I blurted out "I did try to tell you… just was trying to find the appropriate moment."

I was now verbally tap dancing. Doc Martin – the arrogant tosser without a bone of reserve - who could and would verbally assault patients – now feeling like a naughty school boy caught by the Head Master.

Students and parents walked past and greeted Louisa as they went by. I totally ignored them, but Louisa greeted in turn.

Then she frowned at me. "Not sure that it's particularly appropriate right now…" She looked away then stared hard at me. "You might have told me first," she said through gritted teeth. "I do have a right to know," came out more sharply. "After all, I _am_ carrying _your_ child!" She didn't quite shout, but it was very cross.

Heat flew to my face. "A child that _you_ have said _I am to have nothing to do with!_" Now I was boiling mad, returning fire for fire. This was the bone of contention, my inner voice chimed in. The voice inside broke into a scream of rage and I had to bite my tongue to hold it back.

"NO!" Louisa shot back at me. "That's not what I said!" Fire flew from her eyes and her ponytail swished like an angry snake.

I started at her backpedaling. "You have made it _abundantly_ clear from the outset that _you_ have wished to bring up this baby _on your own!_"

"Because I knew you wouldn't want to get involved!" Her words came out so hard, I almost feared she would strike me.

"That is an outrageous assumption!" I shouted back. Now we stood toe-to-toe like boxers. I glared down at her bulbous frame and she had her head tipped straight up glaring at me.

"Yet here we are discussing YOUR move to London…" she went on ignoring me.

"Which YOU just congratulated me on, so…!" No matter how controlled I imagine I would be Louisa was right in my face, our difference in height preventing her from meeting my eyes directly.

She looked away wearily. "I really don't have time for this." She turned and started to leave.

I bolted forward. "Louisa!" I hissed. "There are some practicalities that need to be addressed!"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Bert appear in the Post Office store. "Louisa!" he called out.

I ignored him and kept my focus on Louisa. "We need to be _clear_ about some things…"

"Sorry Doc," Bert went on. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Of course YOU are!" I whirled about and stomped away. If I was a steam engine, I would be blowing steam at every pipe joint and gasket. That went completely wrong. Absolutely impossible to discuss this matter with the woman. I'd let things go far too long – far too bloody long – and now…

I had assumed that Louisa would feel sad, disappointed, and upset. I felt that I would be the calm center of the storm, in control, as Dr. Milligan has trained me, just as in the surgery theater. But I had totally and completely destroyed the moment. Impossible to judge how I could recover and bring some logical sense to any discussion with her at this point. Martin, you bloody fool!

I felt totally and completely an idiot, and worse, so disappointed in myself. Imagine you are in control… not possible!


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30 – Bridges

Al Large stood stolidly on my doorstep with a determined set to his jaw. He'd just challenged me to give Pauline Lamb a better reference, for the new GP.

I sneered at the man and tried to think of a response that would be factual, yet not offend Al too much. I liked Al, as much as I liked anyone I suppose, and I didn't want to offend him unnecessarily. I was burning any number of bridges the last few days and I didn't want to do more destruction than was needed. But Al would not stop hectoring away, chipping at my armor.

"Doc. Pauline's done a lot. She's worked for you for three years. Bled your patients when you couldn't. Covered your back. Kept you going." He rattled this laundry list off in his usual clipped tones.

Al was a no nonsense person, and I now realized that he was a person to whom I had counted on any number of times. He'd even intervened in the affair of the wayward explosives, saving Pauline, Louisa, and me from the depredations of Jonathan, Terry Glasson's mad accomplice. I should have been a better – dare I say it – friend to the man over the years. Now I feared I'd leave him with the awful taste of Martin Ellingham in his mouth, as I knew I'd leave most of Portwenn.

The reference I had given to Pauline said she was _competent_. I had struggled with that much. There was much about Pauline Lamb that I did not understand or care for. She was stubborn, headstrong, opinionated, and she tended to mutter under her breath, but always just loud enough so I could hear her. Now she'd sent her boyfriend to twist my arm.

Al stood right in front of me, and I could think of only one thing to say. "No." I closed the door on his surprised and stubbly face and I felt some satisfaction that I had solved my problem. I'd kept our exchange short, to the point, and direct.

Al asked me, "Don't you think you owe her a better reference?"

Owe her? Owe her? God no! I didn't owe Pauline a damn thing. _She_ was the one who had steamed open my private mail, spread the news to the village that I was leaving, and likely was the source of half the gossip in this backward, ill begotten, rotten semblance of a village!

Yesterday Edith had forced me to slice open the ancient bag of blood and prove that I was over the haemophobia. I pretended it was a ruptured spleen, and the thought of Peter Cronk bleeding out in the ambulance flew before my eyes. That scene included the blanched face of Louisa Glasson, crying out "Martin!" in the ambulance rushing to Wadebridge. Peter had ruptured his spleen in a fall and coming on the heels of the airing of my secret problem to the village, that was a watershed event. Doc Martin had suddenly risen in stature in Portwenn. No longer that doctor afraid of blood; but the doctor afraid of blood who overcame it. I then became capable in their backward eyes.

Saving the precocious Peter Cronk had led Louisa and me to kiss for the first time. I replayed that sequence of events and sighed. That was good – jolly good._ No Martin, you fool! Don't go wool-gathering away on all that!_

_If only_, a surgical professor had once intoned a the body in the emergency department. The fireman had attended a conflagration, his ladder had collapsed, and he'd suffered a compound fracture. Although his fellows had quickly tended to him, and transported him to hospital, his blood pressure was too low without enough blood to maintain flow, and he'd stroked out. The man had gasped his last just moments after the team had mobilised for his care. It was the first fatality I had attended and it hurt. It was still a sore spot years later. _If only…_

By the same token, I regretted not being able to bring Pauline along better. That was my fault for not training her better, making clear my expectations, and making it stick. But my rudeness and prevented me from taking those steps.

PC Penhale came by and asked, "Is it true? You going to London?"

I could only affirm it. He'd had a ridiculous notion of applying to the London Metropolitan force. I disabused that idea swiftly.

His face fell and he said "I'll miss our little chats."

I left the consulting room, quite embarrassed inside by his sentiment.

Chats? Was that he thought our encounters were? Chats? The man was adequate for the minimal policing force in the village and environs, but not much more. Yet he apparently thought that he and I had a special relationship – the Dynamic Duo – he called us. I sneered at the thought. If I never saw Penhale again he would regret it for the rest of his life, yet I would gladly expunge him from my memory if that were possible.

_You are a hard man, Ellingham! _Many people have said that to me. Even Auntie Joan had once said that to me.

Yes, I was hard. Had to be. If I wasn't… wasn't hard, rude, and brusque, then people might see the true Martin. The Martin that even I did not want to acknowledge. _Little Marty under the stairs…_

I sighed as I thought of the conference that Edith Montgomery expected me to attend this afternoon in Exeter. Far enough away to require an overnight stay. I packed a small case with my needed things to have it in readiness. I dreaded being trotted about by Edith with her OB-GYN friends and associates. She had suggested that I mingle at her meeting. I sneered. I _do not_ mingle.

This side of Edith I did not understand. A mystery that she blew kiss at me after I sliced open the blood bag, nor the actual kisses she had bestowed recently. If she was playing at something, it was beyond me.

I feared that Edith must have had some odd adventures in Canada to have made her change so much. She used to be so smart, so sharp in her studies and medicine, but now she was playing about in politics with hospital staffs and consultants.

She was no longer in the top tier, and her sneered at me for the haemophobia, I found distasteful. I _did_ belong as a surgeon again. That was where I belonged, saving lives without passion or emotion. No more runny noses, lumbago, and rashes. No more malingering patients, cock-eyed policeman, and snotty Boards of Governors.

And no more seeing Louisa waddle past with the baby inside her - my baby, _our_ baby. And each time she passed my eyes, or even my thoughts… my heart fell.

I squared my shoulders and pushed those thoughts aside. It is said that Caesar crossed the Rubicon River in his triumphal trek to Rome. It was his path of destiny. He had crossed that river and bridge, just I would cross mine.

Bridges – yes I'd burn a few more in my exit from Portwenn. But no more would I have to suffer each time Louisa walked past.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31 – Showers

I'd just started to walk to Bert's for the baby shower when Martin drew up in his Lexus and we had words, again. He talked again of practicalities. Yet there we were discussing them in the street while had an emergency patient to get too and I was late for my baby shower.

"You really want to discuss this here? Now? In the street?"

"No…" he started. "I'm late for appointment and I have to attend a patient…"

"Goodbye Martin," I said. If it was the last words I ever said to him it would have suited me just then. I waddled away past the school as he drove off to who knows where.

Just when I think I won't let Martin stir me up, there he is once again. Strangely these little tit-for-tats have become our new routine. A routine that will end when he moves away.

Bert, bless his heart, had obviously worked hard to pull off the baby shower. Some of the gifts were quite nice, like the pram, more baby clothes than I'd likely need, and some rather pretty toys. But the tatty teddy bear I could do without. The saggy limbs, worn fur, and missing eyeball made a macabre figure.

I was getting cross with all those who offered me their husbands, or boyfriends or sons to "do things around the house." I just about had my fill. The whole village clearly though that I could not do it on my own. _It_ being to have a baby and _raise it by myself. _

How could I tell them that Martin didn't leave me any choice?

Bert called for attention and made what I thought was a nice toast to me and the baby, but ruined it by finishing with "may she have all the luck in the world, for by God she'll need it!"

The guests swallowed their champagne, while I stupidly held a glass of orange juice. I was the one who needed the alcohol. And at this late stage of pregnancy a little bubbly would not have hurt, much.

That morning I was going into the Farmer's Store when Bert once more offered his son Al for anything I needed doing around the house, after the baby came.

There was steel in my spine and fire in my voice when I answered. "What makes you think I can't do it on my own? _I can manage! _No help from you, or Al, or anybody!"

Bert's fat face fell at this rebuke but I turned and flew into the store before he could give me any more ifs or buts.

I blew air from my nose as I picked up a basket for the things I needed. I took a few seconds to pause and collect my thoughts when Mandy Jordan came over to me.

"Miss Glasson?"

"Oh hello, Mandy. How are you?" Mandy must now be seventeen and she'd lost a lot of that gawky teenage look over the last two years. She now stood up straight and had more poise than I'd ever seen before. Not as skinny either. She was growing up with clear brown eyes and an earnest face framed by razor-cut brown hair.

"Fine, I guess. But how are you?"

I smiled automatically. "Fine, just… oh, you know, getting close to the finish line now." I patted my enormous belly which was getting larger by the hour.

She pursed her lips. "You got about four weeks, I suppose."

"Goodness! Have you all been keeping tabs on me?" Given that most in the village had figured when Martin and I got pregnant, they were probably ticking off the weeks, just like me.

"No, I mean…" she stopped. "Sorry, Miss. Just want to say good luck and all, and if you need help with the baby, like when you need to go shopping or such…" she chewed on her lip. "I'd be glad to come over and watch it, I mean the baby."

"Why, that's very nice you! Really sweet."

"Me and Davey, well, we been talking about saving some money for maybe a wedding some time, and if I could make a little more, on top of my job at the pub…"

"Sure. Thanks so much."

She smiled. "I wouldn't ask for much money. And working in the pub kitchen I even took that Red Cross CPR thing and passed the test so I figure…"

"That's so sweet of you. Thank you." I smiled at her. I didn't know that she and David Phall had been keeping company. Good for her.

"You'll let me know, then?"

I hefted the empty basket. "Yes, I better get to my shopping. Just need a few things."

"Right. Bert told me about the shower tonight but I'll be working, so maybe I can drop by tomorrow or the next day. I have a little present for you."

"That's very sweet. But you shouldn't have."

"My pleasure, Miss Glasson. You always was my favorite teacher, you know." Then she leaned over and hugged me, the basket and my belly in the way.

I was quite taken aback. "Bye then, Mandy."

"Have fun at the shower!" She smiled and took her basket to the counter to pay.

I was quite taken by her sweetness. When she mentioned her boyfriend Davey, I was certain she too would be volunteering the poor boy to _help me out. _But she didn't, bless her. Neither had she asked about Martin.

The usual questions that came my way were _when did I know that Martin was leaving_, _what did I think about it_, _was he going to come to visit or would I visit him_, and so on. I just tried to smile and keep moving on. But the ones _about doing it all on my_ own drove me mad.

But not one person asked me _if_ I wanted Martin to leave. Or _what was I going to do to stop him from leaving?_ Or better yet, _what did I want to do about him?_

The shower swirled about me, the opened presents grew on the pile, and more food and drink were downed. And comments about Martin continued, as well as half-heard ones about me.

My least favorite started _if I was her, I'd… _dropping to silence as I turned my head. Pregnant, thirty-seven, alone, unmarried… that was me. The whole village knew, just knew, that I would fail – as both a mum and as a head teacher. That is what made me the maddest, well not quite.

What made me the maddest was that Martin was leaving, he was going to London, and I had to congratulate the man. "That's great news for you. Really, really well done," I'd said straight to his face. I meant it too. Mostly.

Martin had just marched up to me with no preamble as the children were coming into school that day and told me, sort of, that he was off to London. I did mean to tell him congratulations. I did mean it. If that's what he wanted and needed to do, then I did mean it.

I've seen what this tall, pompous, rude, yet vulnerable man can do with a scalpel, diving into Peter Cronk's bleeding belly, and I realized that as much as I needed him - the baby as well - that there were people out there literally dying for his skill. They needed him too, just in a different way.

But standing outside the school as parents and students streamed past us, Martin wanted to discuss "practicalities."

"Martin, this is not the time." What I wanted to do was to throw myself at him, while another part of me would like to knock him senseless, but still another part wanted to give him a kiss.

I took a deep breath and started the motion, when bloody Bert Large butted in. "Sorry, am I interrupting?" he asked.

"Yes!" answered Martin, but that didn't stop Bert so Martin whirled about and left muttering about "things to discuss."

Bert got right in my face and starting talking about a baby shower. Portwenn is many things. My home, my place of work, and where I grew up, but it can be maddening. You can't sneeze without everyone knowing where, when, and who with. We're all piled on top of one another, and sometimes I just want a little privacy, a little space.

"Baby shower?" I answered.

"Just want to show you how much the village cares. My restaurant tomorrow evening, then."

"Alright."

"And Louisa, if there is anything that you need done, you just let me know, and I'll send Al by."

"Thank you, Bert, but I will be fine."

Bert Large's wife had died when Al was a tiny baby. He knew what I was about to do – raise a child by myself. Twenty five years back it was unheard of that a man could raise a child by himself, especially a baby, but he had done it. Bert Large was a good sort and I did value him. But I wished he had let Martin and me speak, even if we were airing dirty linen in public. School started then and I had plenty to occupy my time if not my mind.

When I was outside the cottage when he and that orange-haired witch Edith were discussing his new job in London my heart sank straight away. Right to the bottom of the ocean; very deep down. _He was leaving! _Those words echoed in my head as I waddled home that evening.

All of Neptune's water could not drown the sorrow I felt, but I had to face it – Martin was moving on. I needed to as well. I even told Martin I didn't _need_ any help from him. I almost convinced myself that was true.

But the next morning when I was showering, the dam burst and with water pouring over my head, I had to turn off the taps and couching down on all fours have the most dreadful cry.

That morning as I went to school, old Mrs. Gibbs stuck her head out of the window. She was my neighbor now.

"Louisa? You alright, sweetheart?"

I peered up at her as she hung out her upstairs window. "Yes. Of course."

"Well, you know I was in the loo just a bit ago and heard the most awful hullaballoo coming from your cottage. Sounded like… well, you were crying?"

I looked away then up at her. "No. Must have been the pipes - they make a funny racket sometimes."

"Ok. If you say so." She drew in her head and started to close the window. Then I heard her add in a soft mutter, "Then your shower pipes sound just like a woman sobbing."

I sighed and wiped my eye; must be dust blowing about. There were few secrets in Portwenn, and I couldn't even have a good cry without it being news on the street. Next time, I'll keep the shower taps on full, just in case.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32 - Trouble

The hotel in Exeter, where Edith's paper was being presented, was just as I expected – stuffy, expensive, and the hotel room sparsely furnished – modern decorating having gone the way of black, white and empty.

I arrived late after tending to the hair eating Ted Nugent at Auntie Joan's farm. The man's bloating, evil smelling belching and general malaise had finally presented itself as a mass of coagulated hair on the rug. There are things that make even me blanch. Stomach contents, to which I was no stranger, as I was a frequent viewer of my own, can be most foul. But this was the worst. The mass I had palpated in his abdomen was due to trichopagia – hair eating – and it had caused what the ancients called a bezoar or a hairball. Curiously these were valued by alchemists as detectors of poison – mad thought.

But what I did not expect upon hotel check-in was that Edith had assumed that she and I would be sharing a room, and a bed. As I'd fiddled about with the blasted key-card, which would not open the door, it suddenly flew open and there stood Edith, her blue eyes expectant.

"We're sharing." I said.

She was all smiles. "I find that a night together works out better if both parties are in the same room." Her brow then furrowed. "Don't you think?"

I could only mutter "yes" to cover my surprise and discomfort. I felt like I was in a mine field, hidden traps about. So I decided… well, to just look for an opening. Before I could go on, she interrupted my thinking.

"Any last thoughts on my speech?" she went on peering at her computer.

_Any last thoughts… _Those words rung through my head. Good question, Ellingham, my internal voice added. Whatever are you doing here with Edith? Any last words from the condemned man?

Before I could mull that over further I made two small comments about her paper. Both of which she quickly rejected in a slightly dismissive tone.

I fiddled with the thermostat as she said that she would acknowledge my participation in preparing the paper.

"No need." I puzzled over the tiny control panel to turn off the A/C. I found the tiny switch and flipped it to _off_.

"But you enjoyed the process," she said her eyes and mouth smiling.

I did not answer her, not trusting myself.

She then echoed my sentiments that air-conditioning ducts are a breeding ground for microbes and bacteria. "Yes I know," she finished, as I tried to open the sealed window. Modern buildings baffle me. We live in a perfectly reasonable climate, yet they seal the buildings up as if we are in some fanciful base on the surface of the moon.

She went on about the temperature and didn't I want to take my jacket off?

"No," I replied. "Shouldn't you be mingling?"

"I know who I need to talk to and what I have to say to them. And I don't mingle."

I had my back to her as I unpacked my things. The first dresser drawer held black lacy undergarments and some sort of see-through black thing… I'm certain that my eyes boggled. I quickly closed the drawer and opened the next, placing my folded pyjamas within.

"Our schedule... is speech, applause, dinner… bed."

I dropped my toothbrush on the floor as I turned in surprise. This was far more complicated then I possibly imagined. And it got worse.

"A little networking would ease your return from the wilderness…" she nattered on and unbuttoned her blouse exposing her bra and a fancy one it was. The sort of type that she'd not worn back in medical school.

I felt a cold chill as it all became perfectly clear what Edith Montgomery expected. The single king-sized bed, the one room, the undergarments… God! She wanted… sex… with me!

She almost giggled at my discomfort. "You're not… shy are you?"

"No. I'll, uhm, just go…"

She smiled hugely with a twinkle in her eye. "I know it's been a while, Ellingham, but you have seen me _naked_ before."

I took my suit in hand from closet. "I'll just give you some space." I ducked into the bathroom my only escape route.

She went on, "Nothing's changed, just less springy!"

Naked. It's such a simple, yet evocative word. Yes I had seen her naked, and she me, long ago. We were in medical school, and our trysts were perfunctory, scheduled, command performances. I had learned a lot from them and yet I contrasted them with my few times making love with Louisa Glasson. Oh, Louisa, I _do_ love you… _Ellingham, you've burnt that bridge now – no going back! _Yet I felt quite certain that any activity of that sort with Edith now would just as mechanical as they were years back. God!

I hung my fresh suit on the back of the door and stared long and hard at my reflection. The man there looked normal, formal and strong – all but the eyes, which looked strained. But the one inside my body was upset, nervous, and fidgety.

I felt boxed in, surrounded by my actions as well as Edith's and I didn't like it. Not one bit. Just have to carry through and look… _Look for what Ellingham? An exit, a release, or should you acquiesce to the expectations of sharing a bed and her body? Is that what you want? Is that what this whole thing has been about these last few months? Edith thinks she had built up a relationship that YOU do not feel, and it was all in her head? Now Edith wants to carry on where she left off, many years back?_

I sighed at the man in the mirror, then stripped off my clothes and changed into fresh ones. I should have brought in my toiletries and shaved. I didn't feel that much stubble, yet if I did shave, Edith might think I was making myself _presentable_ for her. Ghastly thought.

Louisa came to mind and the baby; our baby. I'd leave them both behind in Portwenn in just a few days. Edith would likely expect that this - encounter - would continue throughout my days in London. And like her announcement of the day's schedule, it would be regimented, laid out like clockwork, and at her command. But this clock, Ellingham, will be ever so much more difficult to regulate then those laying in pieces on your kitchen table.

I went out and she whirled, having gotten dressed, thank God. "Compliment me Ellingham."

It wasn't a question, it was an order. Another one. And on top of everything that was bloody wrong here, it was one more dab of icing on the cake – a cake I did not want to touch, let alone eat. I flashed forward to the fanciful future encounter on that king-size bed, the one likely crawling with bedbugs and who knows what? I stripped the sheets and examined the mattress, the likely place for the tiny parasites. This activity was mainly to give me time to think.

Even then as I examined the fabric, Edith was being very imperious with me, where to sit in the conference room, how to act…

There came a knock at the door and a waiter came in bearing a tray with a sandwich. He was fat, short, walked stiffly, and had a bulging temporal artery. But he left quickly before I could elicit a response to my questions.

"The man has a condition known as polymyalgia rheumatica – he could lose his eyesight!" I exclaimed to Edith as I set off after the man.

I vaguely heard Edith yell after me, her voice distorted by a bite of sandwich. "This is _my_ night Ellingham!"

Yes, YOUR night Edith. Well we shall see.

The room door closed behind me and I was on the hunt for the waiter, who although heavy moved considerably quickly. As I pursued the man through the twisty corridors of the hotel I called out, but the man kept going, and it was a matter of cat and mouse.

I finally caught up with him on the ground floor in the kitchen. That, as they say, is when all the trouble started.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33 – Committed

Suzie had sat next to me at the shower and continued to chip away at Martin Ellingham. First it was about who he'd got me pregnant (seems to me that I had something to with it), then she started on his personality (yes, I knew he could be rude and obnoxious), then how she thought Doc Sims was a better doctor (I thought of Martin – afraid of blood – sticking his hand inside Peter Cronk to save his life – with blood gushing about), then she went on about her astonishment that he was _leaving_ the village.

"No defense of that…" I added.

"Yes. And I suppose he just couldn't bear the thought of marriage!"

I looked at her and at Pattie seated on my left, "He has a little problem with commitment, but haven't we all?"

That shut Suzie up for a few seconds but then Pattie started putting down Martin as she thought his eyes were too close together.

My mouth fell open in shock. Before I could make a suitable response, thankfully Bert Large called us all to stand as he made his toast to me, the one that made me feel inadequate.

I was back in my cottage, where Pauline and Al were just bringing in the last of the baby gifts. Pauline made me sit on the sofa, put my feet up, and rest as she bossed Al around.

"No, Al! Put the nappy supplies on the table and the toys over here!" She pointed to a large carton next to me. "Let Louisa look things over again!" She rolled her eyes at him then grinned at me. ""Honestly," she whispered, "you'd think that these men would have a lick of sense once in a while."

"Paul?" replied Al. "Stuff it." He went back to sorting the packages.

Alicia and Trudy had also helped bring things up but disappeared quickly after the first load was delivered. Trudy was quite tipsy and Alicia made apologies as she took her away.

Al trotted to me and gave me the tatty teddy bear and then I realized that Suzie was right. I guess I hadn't been listening. It _was_ a monkey. Much loved and worn, it even smelled a bit musty, but she'd said her son had this forever. Seemed a bit unfair to give away a boy's treasured toy.

Al stood over me a moment and said "That's a piss-poor excuse for a gift if you ask me." He waved at the tattered monkey's face where threads sprayed out of a missing eye.

"Al, it's just been given a lot of love," Pauline flew to the defense of the mangy thing. "Imagine if you were hugged, squeezed, and kissed every night…" her words slowed.

"What? You think I'd looked all worn out like that monkey?" He sounded mad.

"No… Al, just…" she giggled. "Imagine all the…" she stopped and turned away.

Al reached over and gave Pauline a swat on the bum as she walked past.

She screamed. "Hey, fella! Fresh thing, aren't you!"

"Maybe the two of you had better, go…" I yawned and looked at my watch. "It is late."

Al smiled at Pauline. "Right. Sorry, Louisa. Just a few more things to be sorted…"

Pauline took his arm. "I'll settle you later." She laughed and went on saying. "Look, Louisa, you get a good rest now and I'll come by tomorrow and help you sort this lot."

Al started nibbling on her neck as she was speaking and she gave him a tiny smack on the face. "Later…"

They went out all giggles and grins and it made me wistful to see them. There was a time that – well Martin and I weren't exactly all touchy-feely in public, at least not when people were watching – but in private, it was nice.

"Damn them, Louisa! Can't we have any privacy? I'm certain the crones and old men of Portwenn have been keeping a snogging score on us as well a hand-holding betting pool going!" He said it one night after our engagement, when we'd eaten out, and the waitress, three lifesavers, Penhale, and Roger Fenn had all just 'dropped by' the table to say hello.

Martin practically dragged me from the Mote Pub to my cottage where I tried to calm him down. I ended up on the sofa, practically wrapped around him, as he sat there in his blue suit, stiff like he was at attention. I had arms about him a leg across his lap, which he squeezed.

"Martin, they just want… well, ehm…" I tried to answer him.

"They wanted what?"

"Oh, you know. Just… to say hi?"

"Humph! Not very damn likely," he sneered then glanced at his watch.

"Then they just want to see us, together, you know! To convince themselves that the Head Teacher is really engaged to the village GP."

He made a sour face. "Well it _is_ true. _We_ don't need _them_ to validate… our… relationship."

I'd started to massage his shoulders and the muscle and tendons felt like steel wire holding up a bridge. "Martin, you're very tense. It's not just the villagers, is it? What's wrong? Is it me? Sorry we were out in public…" I grimaced as my worst worries surfaced. _What if he wanted to change his mind?_

That got through to him. "Oh, Louisa… no, it's not you or even them I suppose."

"Then what is it?" I kept rubbing his shoulders and moved to his back.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

My hands stopped and I peered up into his stern expression. "Sorry, I suppose… well…" I stopped and the silence grew. My voice fell. "Just a little massage… you know."

He looked at his watch. "Getting late."

"Yes."

He put an arm about me. "You know, studies have shown…"

God, not a lecture! What sort of man was I engaged to?

He continued, "That massage is most effective if clothing is removed."

My mouth fell open. In an instant, the man I was holding seemed softer, and his muscles not so tense. "But you said it's getting late!"

"You don't want me to go slinking off, do you?" He parroted my words of _the morning after. _He put both arms about me, and spoke further. "Louisa, I am committed to you. No matter what the villagers may think, see, or know."

"Right. I'll have to remember that."

He held me close. "I'll stay awhile."

"Till morning, then?"

"Yes," Martin answered with his lips to my neck.

That evening was over eight months back, and the baby squirmed inside to remind me of what we had done then, to get this result now. I looked around my lounge at the semi-ordered chaos of presents, paper and cards. Thumps below made me hold my belly. "This is all for you, baby."

Martin told me he was committed to me _then_. By the same token I thought I was committed to him too. But I was scared, weak, frightened, and upset. I'd run like a rabbit in my escape to London. Little did I know that biology had other plans.

So here I was after quite an adventure and alone again, nearly. But in four weeks, I wouldn't be alone. I'd be holding this baby, but Martin would be gone, damn him!

_So, Louisa,_ my internal voice spoke, _why do you defend the man? Still, after all that's happened?_

Maybe I'm still committed to him, in a small way. I'll never be rid of him, I answered silently to myself.

The voice now had nothing to say and the baby kicked my bladder and I had to pee.

I stroked the tatty monkey. "Poor little fella, all alone in a new place, aren't you?" I levered myself off the sofa, locked the door and struggled upstairs to bed. The monkey came along and as I lay down in the dark I held his musty fur to my face.

"So, what you think, Mr. Monkey?" I asked the toy. "Like to stay awhile?" His remaining eye caught light from across the harbor somewhere. I took his silence as a _yes_.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34 – Unkindest Cut

I barged into the hotel kitchen in pursuit of the waiter like the Red Baron after a Sopwith Camel and trailing a woman carrying a tray laden with dishes I saw my quarry. The large short waiter with my diagnosis of polymyalgia rheumatica was across the room behind some sort of slicing machine where a tall young chef was running it. I called out, "Oh, waiter!"

The blond female waiter I had followed inside turned her upper body, and the tray she was carrying on her shoulder grazed the chef. I saw him lurch forward then pull his hand from the machine with blood spurting. He started to scream at the sight of a missing distal phalanx.

I launched into action as the man stood there stupidly staring at his hand where obvious damage had been done. He fought me, but I managed to get him to listen, as something warm splashed my face and chest. I made him sit on the floor, roughly bandaged the missing finger, after his co-worker attempted to hand me a soiled napkin. Stupid fool I thought her, although in her own way she appeared to be prepared to wade in, telling me she was the first-aid provider.

"I am a doctor!" I yelled at her. "You!" I shouted at the fat waiter. "Come here!" He waddled to me and I forced his pudgy hands about the chef's bandaged hand, as the man sat slumped on the greasy red tile floor gasping.

"I think I'm going to be sick!" he'd shouted, so I forced his mouth open into an 'O.'

"Breathe through your mouth!" I looked at the waiter. "Now!" I looked down and his bulging temporal artery and the scene struck me like a blow. All else in the room went away as that focused my attention.

I quickly told him of my diagnosis based on my observations and a rapid questioning.

He started making excuses. "Well, I carry trays all day, so of course my shoulders do hurt!"

"You have a serious disease! You may lose your sight if untreated!" I pulled an order pad from his pocket and wrote the words _polymyalgia rheumatica_ on it. "You must see your doctor immediately!"

I then turned my attention to the injured chef. "Now!" I shouted to the milling kitchen staff. "I need all of you to find that finger!" Extraordinarily they started poking about as they squatted low and looked high. "Quickly!" I shook my head as they blundered about.

Suddenly a strident voice broke into the hubbub. "Ellingham?"

It was Edith. "What are you doing?" she asked me with consternation.

"Looking for a finger!"

"You're bloody," she replied.

I looked down and my shirt was a charnel house. The sight did not affect me. "Yes."

"And not nauseous. Congratulations!"

"Found it!" came a worker's yell.

"Right, uhm… don't touch it!" I said. I looked around and picked up a clean china plate. "I need some ice and some cling film."

I was reaching to pick up the finger tip, which didn't look that badly damaged, when Edith spoke again.

"Your work here is done!" she urged.

"Not yet!"

"There's an ambulance on its way," she prodded more.

"I just called them!" came another answer from a dishwasher or such.

Edith gave me a hard stare and in a bossy tone said, "Go and change. Try not to be late." Her tone reminded me of my mother or one of my many past nannies giving me hell for wetting the bed. Her tone made me feel nine years old.

Edith whirled and left the chaotic scene. Right then her Hippocratic Oath to help the sick, she flushed away, more concerned about her damn paper than an injured person.

I ignored and scooped ice onto the fingertip then swathed the entire mass in cling film to keep the ice in contact with the severed digit. Luckily a repair should be fairly straightforward, the index finger, after the thumb, being the most useful of digits. In a few months' time, if all goes well, the chef will be back at work. I just hoped to God they'd clean the slicer thoroughly.

I attended until the ambulance arrived, gave them my name, contact information plus plenty of directions and then left to change my ruined clothing. I stripped off in Edith's hotel room bath, amazed that I wasn't retching at the sight. I stared at my face in the mirror after I'd washed and was further astonished that all the usual signs of my panic attacks – sweating, nausea, vomiting, shaking, and fainting – were _completely_ absent.

Dr. Milligan had done wonders, or rather I had. _Imagine you are in the operating theater_ – the tapes always began – had prepared me fully for the chaos in the kitchen. I blew out air and braced my shoulders and my image did the same. _Ellingham, you are now a different person,_ my internal voice said.

"Yes," I said aloud. "That's one problem taken care of."

I dressed and tied my tie and emerging from the loo, found a maid replacing the bedclothes I'd strewn on the floor in my search for bedbugs. Edith must have called the desk to have the bed repaired.

"Shall I turn the bed down sir?"

I considered the question; one that was perfectly reasonable. "Uhm… yes," I answered.

The woman came round the bed and started to pull the duvet down and plump the pillows as I adjusted my shirt cuff.

I gave the bed a long look and in a split second I knew what I must do.

As I traveled down the corridor I could hear Edith starting her talk with the joke about the girl's pregnancy – the one I'd told her to delete. But of course, she had not taken my advice. Granted it was only advice, and it was _her_ paper – but it could well have been the first joke Edith Montgomery willing told in her life.

I stood at the partly open door peering in and Edith stood there, taking in polite applause, and she looked up at me, a slight glimmer of apparent happiness that I was there at last. Just then a man pushed past me and the door swung wider as he slipped in and Edith's gaze swept downward and she saw my wheelie suitcase in front of me.

Her face fell as all her plans shattered. I stood there not wanting to hurt her, but it had to be. It was an unkind cut and far quicker and more effective than words could be.

I did not want Edith Montgomery. I wanted other things and not just London. I tried to keep a calm exterior as I turned to go, and to Edith's credit, I heard her voice go on with her talk after a moment's pause.

As I calmly climbed into the Lexus and pulled away, I felt certain that Edith would plow through her talk, smile at the appropriate points, as she had practiced so long and hard then stand proudly as the applause came at the end.

By now the unlucky chef would be having his finger evaluated and a vascular team put together to assess if the sliced off fingertip, luckily sawn through the joint, could be rejoined. He was likely to have a far easier time of it tonight with senses dulled by morphine, than Edith would in that solitary bed in Exeter.

I clearly had no more reasons to remain in Cornwall. The Imperial College job was in hand, literally, and I could go to my first love - surgery. That is where I _belonged_, back in London, from whence I came four years ago. The new GP, a locum perhaps, would start next week, and it was finally the time to sever my ties with Portwenn.

My drive from Exeter had helped me to sort the tragedies of the day. I'd overcome my haemophobia, but had cast aside the obvious attentions of one that I _did not want_ and had also been spurned over the last months by another whom I _did_ want.

In spite of that, London called to me as a beacon in the night of my unhappiness. I have been unhappy before, in fact miserable almost my entire life, but that quick look from Edith as she knew I was leaving was a distillate of so much – longing – it almost made me change my mind.

But no matter, in four years' time I'd caused too much pain in Portwenn – to Louisa – and to Edith. One I did not care that much if I had hurt, but the ache of hurting the other gnawed at me like that saw blade upon the chef's hand.

It was very late when I returned to Portwenn and my surgery, and entering the kitchen, began to pack my dishes in newsprint. As I wrapped each dish and placed it in a carton for transport, the strings of my heart stretched and then parted, one by one, as I knew what I could not pack and take with me.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35 – Jumble

The plane's engines droned away as I sat peering out the window at the long line of Cornwall cliffs being splashed by the sea. Brilliant flashes of sun bounced off the waves and dazzled me, so I pulled my attention back inside the cabin. There was a man seated opposite in the rear facing seat. He was tall, sort of rugged looking, and his ears stuck out a bit. He was wearing a suit that must have cost more than a couple months of my salary, brilliant white shirt, striped tie, and the shoes on his feet were so well polished he likely could shave using them as mirrors. He was reading the London times and he must have seen me peering at him as he occasionally looked over the pages at me, in sneaky glances.

I rather liked his look, always sort of went for the tall types. Danny Steele my old school mate was rather slender, and not that tall. He also had dark hair and eyes unlike this man who rather interested me. I tried to smile a bit and fingered my necklace, which was nicely framed by my V-neck sweater. He seemed to be interested, but now his peering was almost leering, and it rather startled me.

Now he was pushing the paper down and looking very hard at my chest, or so I thought, and it bothered me. I was just ready to tell him to bugger off, when he threw down the paper and launched himself from his seat and dropped to his knees.

"Louisa! I just wanted to say… I can't live without you! Marry me!"

0000000

It was a very tiring day after the trip to Exeter, dealing with the kitchen emergency at the hotel, and coming to grips with Edith Montgomery's plans. As I lay in my bed, with most of my belongings packed up, I thought about tomorrow, Friday, my last full day in Portwenn. The movers would come and I would be gone from Cornwall. I sighed in the darkness and willed myself to sleep.

But as the darkness came a figure appeared sliding from the darkness in the corner. A woman of medium height and slender build, spiky ginger hair, and bright blue eyes stood at the foot of my bed. She wore some sort of black lacy thing, with slit skirt and semi-transparent top. She stood there staring at me with sad eyes and crossed her bare arms defiantly.

"Ellingham? Why did you have to do it? To leave? It's quite," she sniffed and looked away, then turned those blue eyes back at me, "unsatisfactory!"

"Edith, I uhm… well, I…" Before I could say more, another figure stepped from the gloom and stood by my bed.

Another woman, tall, with dark brown hair and blue eyes as well, with porcelain skin glided into view. She wore her hair loose about her shoulders, framing her face, and her eyes fixed me in place as well. Her posture was leaning rearward with shoulders well back, breasts bulging out a white full length nightgown draped over a pregnant stomach.

Louisa turned her head and glanced at Edith. "Edith? What did you expect from Martin, hm?" She crossed her arms almost in anger, outlining the burden her abdomen bore.

Edith rolled her eyes. "I expected he'd take me to bed!"

"There is a…" Louisa replied then paused, "little problem." She put her hand on her enormous belly. "This. See?"

"Yes. Of course, my dear. But you surely must know," she slid a hand down her slim flank, "that Ellingham and I are far better suited than you and he." She batted her eyes at Louisa and at me. ""Aren't we Ellingham?"

"I, uhm… I'd have thought that since _I left you today_, you'd get the hint?" I cleared my throat. "Honestly, Edith, what we had was ages ago! No going back!"

"Then what about me, Martin?" Louisa pursed her lips into a pout. "And what about the baby, our baby?"

I felt sweat break out and bathe my face as Louisa's eyes bored into me. Her face was so mournful, yet she was not sorrowful, more like regretful.

"Louisa, I didn't mean to get you, that is us, pregnant. If I'd known earlier… that is if you'd stayed… if we'd got married last October, well…"

"None of this would have happened?" Edith answered my question. "Yes, I know. I have thought of that. But you know, Ellingham, we were fated to meet again. Haven't you thought of that?"

"Martin! His name is Martin!" shouted Louisa. "The man has a name! A _first_ name, you witch!"

"My, my, Ellingham, your little biscuit-tin town teacher has some fire, doesn't she? Come to think of it, have I ever called you Martin? No, I don't think so." Edith shook her head. "No, not ever, just… Ellingham."

"Edith, let me tell you," Louisa started to say through gritted teeth, "that you can…" She stopped speaking and her face turned to mine. "Martin, you have to do something! Something…"

"What, Louisa, what do I need to do? Tell me! Tell me what to do!" I sat up in my bed and felt my entire body start to shake. I extended a hand to Louisa, but Edith moved to intercept my arm. "No!" I shouted at Edith and moved away from her, but her hands had become talons as she neared.

Edith tossed her head, her hair all fly-about. "Come now, Ellingham, it's not too late… we can still… well, carry on? I need you Ellingham!" she almost shouted, but it ended with a little whimper.

Louisa turned a shocked face from Edith to mine and back again. "Martin, you can't leave, you just can't. It's not just about me or our baby!"

"I'll bet," interrupted Edith who was sniffling and wiping her face with her hand.

"You shut up!" Louisa shouted. "Martin, I know that you want to, no need to get back to surgery, but does it have to London? What about the people in Cornwall, in Portwenn? Don't they get a chance to have your skill, your…"

"Brains, Ellingham. Yes, that's it, She wants your _brains_, as well as your body," Edith laughed hysterically.

"They go together, Edith!" Louisa said crossly and took my outstretched hand. "Martin, _please_, stay for them, not for me…"

Edith came round the bed and put her hand on Louisa's shoulder who then shook off her touch. "Miss Glasson, Louisa!"

Louisa turned her head to look at her.

Edith put on a sad little insincere look. "Let's face it… _we_ might not be good enough for him?"

Louisa shook her head. "No, no! I won't accept that!" She took a step towards me. "Remember the plane, Martin!" she yelled then froze, her beauty sheltered in the dimness.

0000000

Who was this man, a man I'd never seen before? Was he mad? Bodmin? Had he escaped from a home somewhere after stealing a solicitor's clothing, stolen a ticket and then boarded the plane?

He put his hands, quite large ones, over mine. "Louisa? I asked you a question. Do I get an answer?"

I pulled back, and the plane faded into my cottage, where the slate floor was strewn with blood and broken glass. I was wearing a striped blue top and blue jeans, and Martin, _yes that was this stranger's name_, stood there with a pleading look.

My God! Holly had just been taken to hospital after Martin had saved her life, after almost killing her with morphine. I looked around, at me, at him, at the lounge, then launched myself into his arms.

We kissed quite long and deeply, and I let him go to see him sitting on his sofa, holding a ring, and I was dressed all in white, a wedding dress, and I held a letter in my hand. "I wrote you a letter," I said.

But as I looked at the letter it turned into a pregnancy test, where the word PREGNANT appeared, and I wailed at the sight. But as I screeched, things faded once more and I was in bed, on my side, the baby was kicking my bladder to pieces and I had to wee. I shook my groggy head, struggled upright, then hoisted my enormous body to vertical and waddled into the loo.

My face was terrible in the mirror as I washed my hands. I dropped the towel at the sight and just didn't have the strength to bend over and get it. "Sod it!" I yelled and kicked it away.

The clock by the bed read two-seventeen in the morning, and it was Friday. The last day of school, and it was the last full day that Martin, Doc Martin our GP, would be in Portwenn. I sniffed a bit. "Oh, Martin," I cried into the dark, "what have I done?"

0000000

I leaped from my bed to take Louisa in my arms, but she faded like the fog. I turned to stare at Edith, confused.

"What Ellingham? Did you think she was really here? Or me?" she cackled and faded as well.

I gasped and my heart skipped a few beats. "Lord! What was that?" I said. The room was empty. "Rubbish!" I shouted at the ghosts as I stumbled to the bath.

My face in the bathroom mirror was drawn, lined, and sleep boogers clogged my eyes. I splashed cold water in my face and slumped down on the toilet, feeling my sweat drenched pyjamas stick to my legs and bum.

"Ellingham, what a bloody mess you've made!"

There was no answer to that; there was no simple, _satisfactory_ answer.

I rubbed my face then slogged back towards my bed, where the sheets and blanket were twisted into a knot. The alarm clock read two-seventeen and it was Friday. My last Friday of practice as the GP of Portwenn. The last full day I would live in Cornwall. In this town… the town where Louisa Glasson lived, and Saturday the movers would come.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and drank some ice water, then stood at the front window, looking over the harbor. I could just make out houses and shops across the way. One in particular grabbed my eye, even though it was not actually visible. Just there at the end of the row, up from the Portwenn School, that was where Louisa and her baby, no _our_ baby were. I'd be leaving them behind.

"Oh, Louisa!" I whispered. "What have I done?"


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36 – Woman Scorned

"I think that when you leave this biscuit-tin town behind things will seem very different!" Edith rose from my visitor's chair.

The morning, the morning of my last day in Portwenn as the GP, had started with a bang. As surgery opened a flood of patients, those with real or imagined symptoms, queued up. People I had seen often or not at all in the past years came to "see the Doc." Most were clearly malingering and just wanted to "pop by for a chat." I sneered at them as they paraded into the waiting room, where Pauline had become hyper efficient.

It was a mighty shame that Pauline Lamb hadn't showed more of this energy and drive over the years or our relationship would be far more productive. But first I had to deal with Edith Montgomery. She was NOT amused that I had bolted yesterday and escaped from her sexual clutches in Exeter.

She told me that she accepted my apology, though I offered none. "I'm not angry with you," she went on. "Just maybe disappointed."

"I had my reasons," I replied.

"Reasons… or symptoms?

I could have answered at length, but I didn't want to. I really just wanted her to leave. "Leaving a hotel is not a medical condition." What was a medical condition was erotomania and Edith clearly had it. She was obviously fixated on me, poor fool that I was. I once accused Louisa of having erotomania and she had slapped me. I know now that it was my insecurities that caused my nervousness so in a bizarre way it had also exposed my feelings for her.

Edith leaned towards me. "You conquered your blood phobia, but now you have a fear of _intimacy_."

If she only knew how I'd imagined her in my bedroom early this morning she'd be delighted I was very certain. As I looked at her in her tailored business suit she seemed as far from the night demon who'd visited in in my fevered imagination in the wee hours as was possible. Yet if I told her of my dream I felt she run over and lock the door and do an impromptu strip tease. I banished that thought with distaste.

I looked at her and was very uncomfortable with her assumptions. Our couplings, hard to call them love making, so long ago in medical school were mechanical - not much emotion there I now realized. At the time I was only too glad to have found a partner, but that faded when she left for Canada.

It took years for me to come to terms with her departure but what I had thought was love was not. It was biology controlling my mind, and I was no more responsible for my actions with her than a dog in heat. That was the dim past and I was not about to get involved_ that way_ with her.

I decided to be honest. "Or… maybe I just didn't want to be with you."

Edith shook her head. "No. Don't think so," she said clinically. "I think it runs much deeper."

"It really doesn't," I said. The woman was insufferable and I regarded her with even greater distaste.

She was not to be deterred. "I helped you beat the haemophobia. I can help you beat this too." Edith grinned a little there and it set my teeth on edge. Then she bored in more. "You just need to show a little backbone, Ellingham." Her smile got bigger and she leaned forward confidently. "I'll see you in London."

Clearly Edith felt her plans were delayed and not derailed. I was beginning to think that I'd have to move to a ranch in Patagonia to get rid of her, and even then she might show up on my doorstep.

She stood and gave me a knowing smile and ended our _tete a tete_ with the crack about Portwenn as a biscuit-tin town. She left in a swirl of bouncing orange hair, bright blue eyes, and a bouncy gait.

Looking at her retreating back she had no idea I was thinking that if I plunged a scalpel into her, I wasn't certain that even that would dent her self-confidence. As the door closed behind her, I thought of sneaking to the kitchen for a snort of whiskey, yet thankfully it was already packed away or I might return to the drunken fool I became after the blood-phobia hit in London.

Yet I knew exactly what carton the whiskey was in as I was tempted last night, sometime around two-seventeen in the morning to be exact. I sighed and would have gone for the bottle but for my dedication to my patients, whether they were sick or not, now flooding into the cottage where Pauline was organizing them into ranks and files.

I squared my shoulders, put my professional scowl in place, tugged the suit coat down to rid it of wrinkles and shouted, "First patient!" Let the games begin.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37 – Dancers

Tasha looked wearily at me with red-rimmed eyes. "What? You mean you'll miss Harbor Day?"

Harbor Day, a unique celebration in Portwenn that had fun with food, drink, rides, and music. This year, Tasha, our part-time physical education teacher as well as art teacher, had taken it upon herself to teach the fourth form a dance routine for the party. She had been drilling the kids over and over, and now she looked absolutely worn out. If I was honest with myself, Tasha looked like I felt. I hadn't slept very well last night, and my night time wakeup lasted far longer than I wanted.

When my alarm went off at six thirty I'd probably gotten only a few minutes of sleep between then and when I roused from the very odd dream just after two o'clock. Now at school on the last day of the term, I was feeling the lack of sleep, plus the disturbing feeling of that really odd dream.

My dream was a weird mish-mash of almost my entire time with Martin; that is it stretched from when we met on the airplane to the present. I sighed just thinking what it would take to get through today and Saturday, and the next days after Martin had gone. And he'd still not talked to me about our little shared problem.

"Well, you just can't miss the show, Louisa!" Tasha went on.

"Didn't have a choice! Hospital can't fit my appointment in any other time." I sighed. "Should have gone private but I can't afford it."

"Yeah, everyone's feeling the pinch," she agreed.

I knew that her husband Tommy had been really working hard to build up _Tommy's Taxis_, their business. Tasha kept the accounts and paid the taxes while Tommy drove the taxi, working long hours, and did all the mechanical repairs as well.

Tommy used to drive a long-haul lorry for an international trucker but the downturn made him redundant, so when he lost his job, he started the taxi business. Tasha was very glad to have him home, at least at nights. She told me though they were both getting worn out and she looked it.

"Been working like mad, you know, trying to make ends meet. Now I'm just feeling all worn out… you know. Work, trying to keep the kids lined up at practice, getting Samantha to do her schoolwork…" she paused for breath and sagged against the wall. "Just not feeling that well, worn out…" Tasha stretched out a hand and touched my belly. "You'll know soon enough."

I was getting quite tired of everyone in the damn village predicting how I would fare when the baby came. By dates it was due within the next few weeks, but by the way it was so low in my pelvis and I waddled about, I felt any day things might happen.

Tasha went down the hall and I heard childish giggles, plus oohs and aahs from another class room. I was extremely startled by what I saw. Little brats!

0000000

Pauline had shooed away the patients. "Lunchtime! Surgery is closed. Come back at two o-clock!" She practically pushed the last patients from the waiting room. She turned and gave me an informative look. "This way any malingers won't likely come back."

"That's very efficient." I told her with admiration.

"Course it is," she said evenly. "This will give you some space. You need it."

"Yes, uhm… well…"

"I'm sure there are things you need to do."

I nodded and retreated to my desk.

Pauline followed me. "Doc! I'm off to eat. Need anything?"

"No, hm, thank you."

"Right." She looked around at the piles of boxes. "Like I said, Doc, Portwenn won't be the same without you."

"Hm…" Pauline left and I rummaged about until I put my hand on the envelope I needed.

After a short walk I entered the Portwenn School and I heard Louisa's voice from down the hall.

"Not only is it silly, it's dangerous!" I heard her shout.

I poked my head into a classroom to see Louisa regarding a room of towheaded and dark haired children milling about, some giggling.

"Martin!" Louisa said.

"This is a bad time," I observed.

Louisa held up some blue poster board with something white and fuzzy on it. "They were making good luck cards for me, and some bright spark thought super glue would be a good idea!"

Louisa held the arms of two little girls who'd made beards for themselves using cotton balls, and had their hands cemented together. A little boy turned his head and he looked like an old man with full beard and moustache. I grasped his head and looked closely. "Acetone, you can get some from Mrs. Tishell, followed by soap and water should remedy it."

"What was it you wanted?" Louisa asked.

"I… uh… have something for you."

She smiled. "That's very nice of you."

I took a step towards her, holding the manila envelope out, when the boy started to leave the room.

Louisa pounced in full teacher mode. "Gregory! You can go outside only when you're clean and glue free! And while you're waiting, you can think how silly it is to play with glue! Martin? You couldn't help me could you?"

There were quite a few things I'd rather help Louisa Glasson with. Scraping congealed bits of cotton from the face of a little brat was the least of them.

It was slow going, but hot water, and some alcohol wipes from the school first aid kit catalyzed the worst of the cyanoacrylate cement and it could be washed away. It was most fortunate that they did not get glue into eyes, noses, or mouths.

I found it very curious that as we worked on the unlucky trio Louisa and I had the most cooperative time that we had in months. Thinking back to an earlier time it was before our wedding date and we were preparing for that happy date. That was our most, and last, pleasant encounter.

Now she bent over the classroom sink washing the last girl free of her modern marvel glue prison. She turned her head and smiled at me. It made me glad to see that, yet I knew, or at least felt, that we'd each failed the other. For all of my attempts to be an adult in my relations with Louisa in the last three months, starting with the news that she was pregnant, _we_ were pregnant, I felt extremely disappointed as well as wary being so near her.

The fact that I was here, less than twenty-four hours before my departure from Portwenn, trying in vain to find a few quiet minutes to say, in my own way, goodbye. I've never been very good at personal communications, and as I walked down the hall with Louisa shepherding the brats ahead of us, I realized that calling off the wedding last fall was right. I was totally unsuited to be a husband, let alone a father. This was the moment when I knew I was right to leave for London. Louisa didn't want me to be here, so I would leave. But there was a last thing I had to do.

"I think it's important we have all the financial considerations covered," I began, "For the child."

She pushed a strand of her lovely dark brown hair from her face. "Well, yes… I assume that's what you meant." I heard the words but her face showed she was not quite being truthful.

I gave her the envelope and she looked at it curiously. "So… _this_ is what you have for me."

"Yes, it's a spreadsheet of projected expenditures. I've included a number of post-dated checks."

000000

I held the brown envelope and it felt thick, solid; about as thick as Martin's head. This is what he had for me?

"Fine," I sighed. We were now in the schoolyard where the freshly de-glued kids ran about with their classmates. They screeched and skipped around , while Tasha was trying to get her class to line up and practice her unique dance routine for Harbor Day tomorrow afternoon. Martin was thick; as thick as could be. Did he think I wanted money? Well, I could use the money, but…

"Louisa, it's important that you check it!" he almost shouted. "That we are in agreement!"

I stuck the envelope into my notebook on the table. "I'm sure you've gone over it and it's all very sensible and logical." As a girl I took up a fascination with science fiction, both in print and on the telly. As Martin hovered over me I imagined he'd fit in quite well as a Vulcan science officer on a starship. Logical – too logical Martin! That's you're damn problem!

"Right," he squinted at me in the bright light. "Any questions?"

"I said, I'm sure it's fine." I flipped the notebook closed and picked it up, using it as a shield between us.

Then he said something remarkable. "I appreciate that you may be somewhat upset with me."

Upset? _No Martin, not at all._ You are doing exactly what you are capable of doing. Being thick, rude, brusque, unfeeling. There was no way to reach the man – no way to break through. I thought that once I would be able to break into that fortress he had built. And I did, a couple of times, but it was too much work. And at the end, he didn't want me or the baby. He'd made that very clear.

"I'm not really," I told him. He was what he was. Martin Ellingham through and through. "I just feel sorry for you. First child – that special moment when you get to see its face for the first time and hold it. Form a bond." I have heard mums young and say this, and had read it in the baby book, so I took it as gospel. I had to.

He looked away then back at me, squinting in the light. "Well, there are a number of studies that have shown…"

I couldn't take it any longer. I turned and stalked away but hated to think that this was it. _The end._

"So… is that it then? Is there anything else?" I managed to ask. If Martin would go on about medical or financial issues, and he likely would, I didn't want to hear him.

000000

"That's it then." I cleared my throat as I looked at Louisa, her face lovely in the Cornwall sunlight. "Unless you have any questions…" I petered out. "Or problems about the birth process." Obstetrics was not my strong suit, only having delivered one baby, but I had read extensively for Louisa's sake.

She looked at me. "They have doctors and nurses in the hospital." I heard her sigh and she seemed to speak next through gritted teeth. "I'm sure they're perfectly capable of helping."

"Yes. I was just trying to say," I paused, " I am expressing concern for your welfare." The least I could say. If she'd only let me help her, if she had only… let me be near her.

She was beautiful. More beautiful than I had ever seen her. Her hair brushed back in the pony tail she likes to wear, her eyes brilliant, the maternity top and jumper suiting her slender, yet pregnant frame.

God! Was I really going to leave? London had my new surgery job but it wouldn't have Louisa Glasson. But she told me she didn't want me to be involved with the pregnancy, the baby, or with her.

The school bell rang. She sort of waved her hand. "Better get back then," she said reluctantly. "Before they find something even worse than super glue to play with."

I thought I heard a break in her voice. She glanced away then back to me. "Good luck then…with your move," she added.

So this was goodbye, Louisa? "Yes. You too… I mean…" God, Martin this sounds so lame; so puny. _The best you can do Ellingham?_ "Wish you all the best." I meant it but the paltry words were the finest I could come up with.

The school children were being herded by Tasha into the school and Louisa started to turn. She looked at me, smoothed her top over her pregnant bulge, then took a last quick look and then she turned abruptly and walked to the school.

0000000

Martin stood there, ten feet from me and he might as well have been on the moon. We'd said the last words - discussed money, medicine, and moving. Almost touched on the emotional and I had dreaded this very second for weeks. His suit was perfect, tie neatly tied, shoes polished. His face not glum or blank, but it showed something. Maybe he wasn't a total loss after all – not a total write off.

But looking ahead down the months, years, and decades, we'd never – ever – be this close again. Oh there will be phone calls, and email, perhaps the odd visit here or there, but this was it - the end - the final ending of the saga of Martin and Louisa.

The bell had rung and Tasha was now taking the kids inside after what I could see had been a contentious and disarrayed dance practice. Perhaps it was a lesson to be learned. In spite of our best laid plans, hopes, prayers, or assumptions, dances – and dancers – can fail.

Martin and I had never even danced once. But we had failed, miserably and utterly. I looked at him one last time, touched my belly where the baby was poking me, and turned away before the tears started.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38 – Closing Doors

I watched Louisa Glasson, one time fiancée, lover, and the woman carrying my unborn child walk quickly to the schoolhouse door. She was preceded by school children and another teacher, Tasha; I suppose the name was. Louisa put out a hand to steady herself, the great abdominal bulge of pregnancy impeding her, as she stepped into the school.

There was a tiny pause, as she had a hand on the doorway, and her head turned slightly to the right as she started to step into the building. Was she going to say something else? The movement of her head was followed by a slight twisting of the upper torso, preceded by a rearward motion of her right elbow and shoulder, and it seemed she was turning towards me.

I am no great reader of poetry; I find the stuff dreadful; yet in school I was forced to read Romeo and Juliet. Surprisingly I liked that play. Perhaps it was because of the pathos I read. So while my horrid classmates dashed about the school playground reenacting the sword play I found myself thinking about the balcony scene. I always wondered, why didn't Romeo confront Juliet's father and get to the point? He loved the girl and she him, yet they allowed their awful families and stations to get between them, and we all know with what dreadful consequences.

As Louisa paused on the school step, I was frozen in place waiting for her to turn once more and say something else, or at least to give me a tiny rueful smile. I was already forming the words, some gibberish like – _we need to talk, more. Can I come to see you later this evening?_

But the moment came and went. The turning of her head stopped, her right arm swung forward, the right leg lifted onto the stone step and then she took a half step forward and up. I almost started to shout… but I was interrupted.

"Is she your girlfriend?" a tiny voice piped up at my elbow.

I peered down at this little pipsqueak of a girl and replied with irritation. "No!" I could have added _not any more._

The child stood there squinting up at me. "How tall are you? Why'd you look so sad?"

The answer to the first was easy. I am six foot - three inches tall. The second answer would require careful consideration. These are the moments of my life that I have come to regret, as these kinds of questions will echo through my head late at night, when all is dark and still.

"I erh…" came out.

"Hello doc!" shouted a cheery voice. It was Tommy of the migraine. He'd barged to the front of Pauline's line today and I'd examined and questioned him closely.

Tommy didn't look like he had a migraine. He looked positively fit, although sunglasses kept me from seeing his eyes. He was my first patient this morning, although examining him in the waiting room was something I did not usually do. His symptoms did not sound like a typical migraine then and the more I thought about his case he likely needed to see the new GP Monday for a full workup.

"See you met the little 'un. You forgot your costume, so I brung it by." He tousled her hair. "She'd lose her head if it wasn't attached!" The man handed clothing on a hanger to the child and she ran into the school.

"Say doc, you told me to lie down. I had a better idea!" He tapped the dark lenses covering his eyes. "Sunnies."

"No. Not effective." I turned and left the man in my wake.

"Well…" the man was following blathering on about working and how some can't wear suits and have to work for living and other such nonsense.

I went straight through the blue painted steel gates, skirted his taxi and walked away, his shouts following me.

_Was she my girlfriend? Why did I look so sad? _his daughter had asked.

How to answer that? The short answer was the simple two letter word I'd spoken to the child. Girlfriend would imply a sense of connectedness and mutual affection. Sadly that was no longer the case between us. Parents, yes; but affectionate partners in life? No. _Why did I look so sad?_

I was crossing the Platt, the very bottom of the Harbor when Penhale approached.

"So I was thinking…" he trotted to keep up with my rapid pace. "Tonight. A drink – farewell to the Dynamic Duo."

I used the same answer with him. "No," and kept walking.

Penhale slowed and fell behind, but I heard what he said next. "Probably for the best," he went on with a sad tone. "Avoid messy emotions."

Emotions? Was that what I was avoiding? The whiskey bottle called my name again, and I marched faster past Bert and Al who were loading carboys of oil into their van.

"Hey, doc! Give us a hand here?" Bert called at me as I left them behind.

"You're likely to get a slipped disc," I threw over my shoulder.

I left the two fools behind me. No, that's not fair. Bert and Al weren't fools. They were hard working people, and their crazy idea of a restaurant seemed to be working at last, now that Al has taken over management. Louisa and I had eaten there a few times, some more enjoyable than others, but I'd not been there for weeks, ever since Louisa returned. The thought of sitting, by chance, at some table where she and I had dined was too much to think of. It was another reason to leave Portwenn – village was filled for of reminders of what used to be.

I got into surgery and slammed the door before my cheeks got too wet from the tears that were starting to leak out. The sound of the closing door echoed to my ears like the closing of a tomb. For once, Penhale was right.

0000000

I helped Tasha get her kids and the other class sorted, then got back into my office. I slowly closed the door.

I flipped opened my notebook and pulled the large manila envelope out and held it warily. The metal clasps opened with little effort and a solid package of printed figures and a thick schedule came out. Clipped along the edge was a packet of cheques, each one dated a month later than the next. A quick look showed that I held in my hand some twenty thousand Pounds running from now up to the end of the year.

There was a note on creamy white letterhead stapled to the backing of the packet. In printed block letters in Martin's hand, it read:

_Louisa,_

_These cheques should provide for the baby until this year's end. If you require more money for any reason please do not hesitate to contact me. I shall send by insured post another packet January next for the following year's expenses._

_Note that per the enclosed spreadsheet, the amount will increase year by year, as financial necessities for school and care increase with the age of the baby. I have also made allowance for inflation over time as the economy changes, so adjustments are included._

_I have provided an ample allowance for the child and for you as well, since a mother requires certain other things, beyond the needed children's clothing, food, toys, books, and medical care. I leave it to your discretion to determine how to spend those monies._

_At the same time I am endowing certain financial accounts which shall accrue and provide larger lump sums at various times (see spreadsheet 2) to provide for any housing or educational expenses beyond the scope of daily upbringing._

It was signed in looping script:

_Martin Ellingham_

I held the packet in my hands, pulled it to my chest and hugged it. I might as well have been hugging a wooden door for all the comfort it gave.

After a time I packed it all up back into the envelope, and put it inside my briefcase. As I snicked the latches closed, it sounded like the latching of a closing door.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39 – Last Patient

Patients came back, enough to keep us busy, and to occupy my mind and distract me, and finally only one was left. He complained of lower back pain and as I examined the man, I noticed tenseness and he reported soreness in his lumbar region. But there was an odd bulge in his trousers. It was on his left side, below the umbilicus.

I prodded it and the man reached in and pulled out a cricket ball. "You have a cricket ball in your trousers?" I'd seen many strange things in and about Portwenn, Cornwell, but this was in the top ten or perhaps the ten worst actually. Not as bad as the giant invisible squirrel but it was right out there on the fringe.

"In my pants, doc. My truss for my hernia, it wore out," he explained. "So this cricket ball holds it in!"

"Well you can get a new one or even have your hernia surgically repaired! That cricket ball is putting strain on your back, hence the pain."

"Doc, you got your fancy London ways, but I got mine. Folks in Portwenn, we have ours."

"And most of them are mad!"

"So I'm one of the Bodmin ones, then?"

"Yes!"

"Well, that's the way it is. I got my ways, and they work." He tucked the battered cricket ball back inside his pants, sat up and straightened his shirt. "That it doc?"

"Yes."

My last patient, totally Bodmin but one all too typical of Portwenn residents, smiled with a gap-toothed grin and nodded. Then he strode to the door and through, into the waiting room. He gave a nod to Pauline and then he left.

I looked around an empty waiting room. "So that was the last patient."

"Yes, yes it was," replied Pauline.

I reluctantly said a little speech I thought of. "Pauline, we've worked together for a number of years and I just want to say… good luck." I held out my hand and Pauline took it and we shook briefly.

"So you're done then, doc?"

"Uhm, yes…"

"You want to say something else?" she asked bravely.

"Well just the… I appreciate the help you have given me." I'd thought a lot about what Al Large had said to me – how Pauline had supported me, guarded my back, kept me going. It was true. Without her…

Pauline let out a shaky breath. "Well, thank God, I thought you were going to say you were in love me or something."

"What?"

"Well, you know, all that bumbling around; all nervous."

"That's absurd!" I'm quite certain my eyes bulged as I shouted at her.

"Really? We've worked together a long time, and uhm, I've seen those little glances you gave me. You always asking me to work late, accidently brushing your hand against mine!"

"I DIDN'T!" Was the woman mad? She must be! My God I've been working with an insane woman! I became fearful that she'd follow me to London, along with Edith, and haunt the lobby of my flat.

Pauline bust out laughing. "Your face, you should have seen your face!" she giggled on but then her voice dropped and she got serious. "Are you sure you'll be fine in London, doc? I mean the whole blood thing. I won't be around to do it for you when you're hiding in the corner like a little girl…" Now her face was quite solemn and sincere.

I thought how much Pauline had grown, matured, become knowledgeable about an office, and not just the veterinary she had worked with before. If I had done one good thing here, then surely this must be it. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Pauline." Hiding in the corner? Was that what I did?

She looked as if she might say more, but she just smiled.

I spoke before the moment become maudlin. "Good bye."

Pauline Lamb left my surgery in a swirl of gaudy clothing, her ginger hair pulled back, and in all this time she had affected the eclectic dressing that was her trademark. I felt certain that Imperial College, and all of London for that matter, would have no one quite like _Pauline Lamb._

But when she stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her it mysteriously ceased to be _my_ surgery. The cottage just became a house, an old building with creaking steps, leaky plumbing and dry rotted floor boards. The walls were still an odd shade of green, which I'd only kept as one coat of paint covered the old. It wasn't much different from when I arrived. But as I looked around it struck me that I no longer worked here. The building was empty and I had packing to finish.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40 – Travels

The school day ended and I was absolutely exhausted. The last of the kids were gone for summer break, the school was nearly empty and I was sorting papers in my office when there came a hesitant knock at it. "Louisa?"

I was surprised to see Tasha. "Tasha! Hello. Feeling better than earlier?"

"Yeah, a bit. Listen, what I said before… about… being all… worn out…"

"Don't worry. Forget it." Her words this afternoon had made me think a bit and my deepest worries had emerged to torment me. _How was I ever going to do this – this mum thing – all alone? And how could I let Martin leave? Just watch him move away Saturday? Tomorrow?_

"No, I mean, I don't want you to think I'm wishing you any bad luck or anything. Just that…" she twisted a strand of her hair. "Well, you know, it'll get sorted out. We'll help when we can."

"Right." As I said this I dropped into my chair and faced the wall. She'd just confirmed my darkest fears. In spite of best intentions, everyone will be busy, and I'd pretty much have to shift things alone. "Like I said… don't worry about it."

"Ok. And sorry you'll miss Harbor Day, then."

"Maybe I'll catch up with you late afternoon after I get back from hospital?"

"Alright. Tommy's taking you isn't he? He mentioned it."

"Yes, he is."

"Well, then. Bye."

"Goodbye, Tasha. And break a leg tomorrow!"

I heard her yell back from down the hall. "Thanks! If the kids will cooperate!"

Now the school was empty or so I thought. I was tidying up a bit more; most of the papers I'd filed away this afternoon; but I wanted a clean desk. I heard a clatter of wheels in the hall and David our custodian poked his head in. "Miss Glasson, I didn't know you was here!"

"Yup," I smiled at him. David was ex-Royal Navy and he kept our school quite ship-shape. With all the kids it was a bit of struggle, but he managed. "Just getting things sorted, before…"

His face brightened as he slouched against the door frame. "Ah, the little-un. Yeah. You about due, right?"

"Yes, a couple more…"

"Say did I ever tell you how glad I was when that tosser Strain got the boot? And you've done a capital job these two months!"

"Well no you didn't and he didn't get sacked, you know. He went on medical holiday!" It quite irked me that Mr. Strain was still thought of unkindly. How much of his behavior was from his illness, and the rest was just him?

"Holiday?" he almost swallowed the gum he was chewing. "I wish I got a holiday from snot nosed kids, grubby fingerprints, scuffed floors…"

I held up my hand and he stopped. "David, you do a wonderful job keeping the school clean. They can't help it that they're little children." David did complain but he likely had a right to.

"Aye, that they are. And dirty ones too! Just this morning I caught two of them boys writing on the wall! Little brats."

"But you cleaned it."

"Yes I did! My rag and some elbow grease fixed it. No way would they leave this here school a mess. Won't let it be said that I left my post. Why when the bombs was coming at us thick and fast in the Falklands, we stood firm! Stayed at our posts!" He came to attention and snapped a salute. David was a veteran of that war way down in the South Atlantic and he was quite proud to have served.

"At ease," I told him and he relaxed. "Well, thank you then for your compliment and I hope you have a nice holiday!"

He touched his forehead in a sort of half salute and wave. "Thankee, Miss Glasson. Now I'll just down tools then off to supper. The missus will be waitin'."

"Thank you for your hard work. The school is very clean." I stood awkwardly and shook his hand. "Have a nice holiday, then."

"I'll try. The wife and me we're going off to London to visit the daughter and her two little ones. The son-in-law he's off somewhere, but we might see him around the end of it. He travels a lot on the job."

The word _London_ sent a dagger into my heart, in spite of what I told Martin today. "Well, then, I hope it all works out."

David smiled and he still held my hand. "Miss Glasson. Best of luck to you, mum."

I laughed. "I'm not a mum, yet!"

He squeezed my hand and chuckled. "From the looks of things, you almost are!" He touched my belly with his left hand. "A touch for luck – me to you, then!"

A bit awkward at that. I didn't like people touching my belly but the whole village did anyway. All but one person. "Thanks, David. Safe travels to you."

He dropped my hand and went to the door. "You too, Miss! Bye then." He headed down the hall pushing a wheelie bin.

"Safe travels, David." I said softly. The baby kicked just then, rather strongly – up, down, front and back. "Steady there little thing. We'll see it through, you and me. Right?"

The kicks slowed into a flutter, then stopped. The baby lay heavy and my belly was very tense for a few seconds. Braxton-Hicks contractions, nothing to worry about the OB nurses told me, but I had to pee suddenly. No surprise there. I turned the chair and peered out the window across the harbor. I stood and could see Martin's Surgery across the way. _No, you are wrong, Louisa! He doesn't work there anymore. _

I tidied up my desk, filed a few more folders and watered the plants. I would come back Monday to finish the quarter reports for the Governors – who was sick and for how long, teacher days spent, if we'd filed all the government reports, etc. Not a lot of work and I'd knock it out in a few hours next week, and that would spell the end of this term. And soon, this baby would be in my arms. Plenty to do then.

I left the school, locked the door behind me, waddled up to the Farmers Store and bought some veg. I'd combine these with what I had at home and have a nice quiet meal. I'd be alone, but I wanted to be tonight.

I got to the cottage, put the food away and went back outside for a breath of air. Seemed I couldn't quite get my wind today. "Oh, Louisa, you're just tired. Been on your feet too long!" I answered myself. "Yeah."

The sun was heading down in the summer sky and the harbor was mostly quiet, although I could hear banging from the Platt as someone was nailing something. I'd miss Harbor Day but it couldn't be helped. I looked over at the Surgery again and saw Joan Norton's truck drive up there and park next to Martin's Lexus.

I shielded my eyes and saw Joan carry a container of some sort inside. At least he'd have a dinner companion.

My feet turned my body to the cottage but I paused at the door. I looked back at the Surgery. This time tomorrow he'd be in London. My baby kicked again. "Safe travels, Martin," was all I could get out through my strangely tight throat.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41 - Need

I pressed on with packing until my mobile rang. The number was not one I recognized, but it was likely someone who needed medical advice, and I was fully prepared to tell them to call the surgery Monday when the new GP arrived. I still did not know who that was. But it didn't concern me at all.

I flipped open the phone and answered. "Ellingham!"

"Mart!" It was Chris Parsons,a classmate from medical school days and head of the Primary Care Trust. "How are things going? How is the master diagnostician? Need any words of wisdom from me?"

"Fine. I'm fine. No." I'd just finished packing most of my clothing and had started on the downstairs bookshelves. I had quite a lot of books and plenty to pack away.

"Well, I was thinking, would you like to come into Wadebridge tomorrow and have lunch?"

"No. The removal vans will be here late morning."

"Oh," his voice fell. "I just, well, uhm, we didn't have a chance to say… that is…"

"Goodbye, Chris? It's not like I'm going off to Sri Lanka, for God's sake!"

"Well, I thought we could have a talk. There's quite a nice little pizza place nearby."

"Too many carbs, Chris! You know that. The last time I saw you, you must have gained two or three kilos from the looks of you. Too much pizza, then?"

He sighed. "Mart, must you be so damn…"

"Factual?" I injected. I really didn't know where this conversation was going.

"There is that." He paused and I heard whispering in the background.

"What's that? Who else is there?"

Chris sighed. "My wife. She says that we'll look you up in London when we visit, probably in two months or so."

"Ah. Well I'm certain I will be very busy at Imperial. Getting up to speed. All that."

"Sounds like you don't want visitors, then."

"Chris, that's not what I said! Hell, man, I'm not going round the planet - just to London!"

He took an intake of air and I heard more whispering. "Here you talk to him!"

A female voice came on the line. "Martin?"

It was Parson's wife, Julia or Janet, or was it Jan? Yes, Jan. "Hello, Jan," I said warily. Now what did she want?

"Well, Chris and I were wondering, well I was really badgering Chris to ask you and he was afraid too." She paused and I heard Chris in the background muttering. "About the erh, the…"

"You want to know about Louisa." I sighed and shook my head.

"Yes! Louisa Glasson! How is she?" A longer pause from the woman. "I was anxious to ask you."

"She's pregnant and she's fine." I shook my head at my mobile. Daft conversation! "She's fine and so am I." I might as well _say it_, even if I _didn't feel it._

"You're both fine? Oh really."

"I just told you! Louisa Glasson and the baby are fine. Due in four weeks or so, but in a first pregnancy the tightness of the tissues can prolong the pre-labor phase. Due to inability of the oxytocin to properly influence tissues in the primagravida…"

She cut me off. "_Yes_, Martin! I am a mum! I've had two children. And I'm married to a bloody doctor! No need to lecture me!"

"Oh." I was at a loss what to say, but the woman clearly wanted to know more than I was willing to tell her.

She badgered on. "So Louisa is fine, then?"

"I said that, Jan! Give it a rest!"

"With the move and all?"

"Yes. She is. She wished me luck with my move."

I heard a little gasp, some fumbled noises and Chris came back on the line.

"Still there, Mart?"

I sighed. "Yes, Chris." I could hear his wife mumbling and also snuffling in the background. "What's that your wife is saying?"

"Nothing." He must have covered the mouthpiece with has hand but I could still hear him though he tried to whisper. "Jan! Shush! I don't care that you think he is an unfeeling tosser! He is still my friend! Now shut it!"

It was time to end this awkward call. "Chris, is there _anything_ else? I have things to do."

He sighed. "No, Mart. You take care in London is all."

"I will Chris." I reflected on the trust Parsons had to have in me when he helped me get the GP spot in Portwenn. "Chris I need to tell you…"

He cut me off saying, "Then bye and Jan sends her love! Call you soon!" He rang off in a rush.

My words of thanks stayed in my throat. _How I was glad to have been given the chance. How he'd bucked me up when my days were darkest. How… damn it! Chris was my oldest, and dare I say it, best friend. He knew the hell I'd gone through with the haemophobia and before that when Edith left for Canada. He's seen me drunker than a Lord; totally out of it. But he'd never given up on me. He reminded me of Pauline, and yes even Louisa, at the best of times._

I stood there stupidly thinking these things, then slipped the mobile into my pocket and went to the kitchen to pack the cooking things. I'd just started when the rear door opened and Auntie Joan barged in.

"Thought you could use some company and something to eat." She held up a casserole of some type. I smelled chicken and veg of course. She smiled hesitantly.

"Just finishing up." I rolled some pots in bubble wrap and stuffed them into a carton.

"I was hoping to spend some time with you - before you go, Marty."

"Didn't mean it like that." I had a way of speaking harsher to Joan then I meant to and today was one of those days. I didn't mean to hurt her but I clearly had.

"Strange to think that tomorrow at this time you'll be in London." This came from her sadly.

I shook my head. "It's not that strange."

Joan sighed and I knew I was in for a lecture. Coming on the heels of the Chris and Jan show I was not in the mood.

She bit her lip. "Will you miss us?"

"I'll miss you of course… and I'm concerned for your finances."

She nodded. "Well hopefully the bed and breakfast business will help with that."

"Well, if it doesn't and you'd like some assistance…"

She cut me off. "I've been through worse and come out smiling." Now she did smile, a little. "That's life isn't it, Marty?" The last was a leading question.

I knew next was where her lecture would start and it did.

"Sometimes we have to face up to our responsibilities, no matter _how_ difficult they seem," she added.

I dared not look her full in the face. "I take it you're talking about Louisa."

She nodded her head slowly. "Yes, I _am_. When are you planning on coming back to see her?"

I didn't want to hear the rest but she pushed on. She was like my conscience and I didn't want to hear it, especially from her.

"It won't be long until the _baby's_ born."

She stressed the word baby in the oddest way, almost like it was in need – need of my presence. Yet Louisa had stood in front of my cottage and told me _she would take care of it. _Now here was Joan telling to get involved, when Louisa forbade me. Why the woman had stood in that very kitchen doorway and told me that she needed me for _nothing_. Not a shred of help! "What I don't need and will never need from you is _any_ kind of help!" were her exact words.

I rushed around the table and unplugged the red lamp on the counter and wrapped the cord about it, merely to have something to look at, and not at Joan. Damn it! Didn't she know that these thoughts were in my head? "Not sure when I can get away."

"Surely you want to see your own child – as soon as possible?"

She just kept prying and prodding. I wound bubble paper about the lamp. "I really must get on with my packing."

Auntie Joan, the woman who would have been a far better mother to me than my own, gave me a resigned look. "Alright," she said softly. "I won't say another word. I'll just pop this into the oven and we'll have our own little last supper."

I nodded and she bustled about with the cooker and pulled out plates and silverware. She was true to her word. We ate and drank water and the sun set and we spoke not a word. But her words – the baby words and the Louisa words – ate at my soul like fire.

At the end, lips quivering she washed the plates and glasses while I dried them. It hardly made sense to run the dishwasher for such a small load.

Joan Norton, the strongest woman I know, well all but _one_ perhaps, stood at the door, her baking dish in hand and her lips quivered. She gave me a long and hard look, peered into the darkness beyond the window and then opened her mouth. "Don't forget us, Marty. _You_ will need us far more than _we_ need you I fear."

Before I could react, she threw open the door and bolted. I dumbly stumbled after her to see her truck go into reverse, back into the lane and drive away.

I watched her drive off, another woman receding from me down this damn hill. Need? She said _need_? That was a word I dared not think of. I rushed back inside before I was tempted to cast my gaze across the harbor at Louisa's cottage.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42 – Saturday Morning

Saturday dawned bright and sunny – a beaut of a day – and I resolved that no matter what anybody said to me about Martin leaving I would answer them cheerfully.

I stood in front of the mirror and practiced. "Yes, I know he is moving back to London and getting back to surgery. And I say good for him. Must have been terribly hard to get over the blood-thing. But we're still friends. Yes we will see other when the baby's born. I'm fine, just fine, just cooking along." I practiced smiling, keeping an upbeat tone and pushing through it.

After a few minutes, I almost believed it. It was a way that I might be able to preserve _some_ of my dignity, if any of it was left.

I dressed carefully that morning and spent some time on my makeup and hair. The dress was a periwinkle and white print with a square-neck panel of beige. I could move in it, it was soft, and I loved the dress as I thought at this late stage of pregnancy there really wasn't much else I could wear that made me look good. And I did want to look good as I think that mental attitude is half the battle of feeling good.

I drew my hair back into a pony tail, ever so much easier than anything else, and besides my straight brown locks wouldn't hold much of a curl in the seaside humidity. That was one positive aspect of being pregnant – my hair was glossy and thick and if there was one thing I'd like to keep, it was the hair. I knew some women who chopped their hair short as their delivery dates approached. But I hadn't had short hair since I was a kid - long hair was part of me now.

I took a long soak in the tub, washed my hair and shaved my legs in the shower, and had a leisurely breakfast of juice, fresh fruit, and whole grain toast. I thought about taking a walk later, but my back had developed a nasty kink, no help from the baby, and just in the last day it felt like I had to have a pee a couple times an hour. In spite of that I had slept fairly well, although I'd lost track of the number of times I'd got up to use the toilet in the night.

These were just part of the long list late pregnancy issues – all normal according to the nurse and the baby books – but I was getting tired of swollen ankles, shortness of breath, along with weeping nipples. And the veins of my legs were now taking on the appearance of something I saw once in an abstract painting. Soon though I'd have other issues, like nighttime feedings and piles of pooey nappies.

I'd got a huge burst of energy last night so had cleaned most of the cottage. It seemed daft to be working so hard after a long day at school, but it kept me busy. As I bustled around, taking frequent breaks to catch my breath and use the loo, it made me think of how Martin stayed busy.

Martin loved to work on clocks - the more broken the better. He had standing orders at clock shops in both London and Falmouth for broken mechanical clocks! And my word he'd strip them all down, dunk the grimy parts in some sort of mixture of solvents he'd concocted and put them to rights. Then he'd sit down with all the bits and teeny tiny-tools and put them all back together. His hands were rather large with thick fingers, but obviously his skills as a surgeon put him in good stead there.

I nodded at the memory of those hands. The first time those hands touched me was on the right cheek. The selection committee had just voted, and I was the lone dissenter. I marched from the hotel meeting room and confronted the man. As I was telling him that he better take a care with the people in my village, he was peering at me in the same rude and strange way he'd looked at me on the plane. Then he reached out pulled my cheek and eyelid down on the right side and after two questions had diagnosed glaucoma and sent me off to the eye doctor. And rude tosser that he was he was right. A tosser but brilliant too.

Yes that was the first time and not the last he had treated my medical issues or touched me.

Now from that tiny beginning and all ours ups and downs, this giant foetus was crushing the life out of me as I tried to rise from the sofa where I'd sat in my lounge. I looked around the ground floor where everything was neat and shiny, dishes in the cupboards, the new and gently used toys from the baby shower lined up in a row, with the baby carrier sitting on the slate just waiting for a passenger.

I sighed as I struggled upstairs to the toilet where I sat and went again. It didn't smell or hurt, so I didn't think I was getting a urinary tract infection. The last third of the well-worn pages of the baby book, which I'd read a million times spelled it all out. My head nodded up and down as I read the long list.

"See Louisa! Nothing to worry about – all normal!" I told myself as I ran my finger down the list. It was all there. Each and every symptom I was experiencing was perfectly normal. "Right, perfectly normal," I said again.

I snapped the book closed and the photo on the cover sprang into focus. It showed a beautiful couple, man and woman, the woman smiling with massively white teeth, long shining hair, pregnant of course, surrounded by the loving arms of a young man who was tall and handsome – an equal partner to the young woman.

"Right," escaped again. I threw the book across the room where it flew straight to the tatty stuffed monkey, his remaining eye looking startled as the book landed square in his lap.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43 – Another Last Patient

Saturday – six AM. The alarm rang, not that I needed it, as I'd not got much sleep. I lay in the bed wondering what tomorrow would bring. Sunday I'd be back in London and that afternoon the removal vans would arrive at the flat I'd rented on the Internet. The rental agent apologized at the age of the building it was in, but I told him not to worry. After three years in Portwenn, I was quite used to ancient residences, creaking doors, and questionable plumbing.

The contents of my cottage were nearly entirely packed away. I was leaving the office equipment as I was sure the new GP would need it, and it was so much better than the trash that Doc Sim had left for me. That was my real introduction to the backwater of Portwenn. The tubing of the late and not great Sim's sphygmomanometer had totally hardened into a brittle form and it snapped as I touched at, while the pump bulb cracked in my hand. There was not a thing in the office that looked usable, but for the sink. I found that it too was a mass of corrosion and leaks.

Thusly I met Bert and Al Large – plumbers extraordinary, local handymen, and impromptu guides to the village. I sighed at the memory. All the while that dolt Elaine stood there in the background chewing her gum with a tiny gleam in her eye at the mayhem as the office flooded.

I tried to shake off the memory. But as I stood in the shower more came back - more of the odd cases, insane conditions, weird excuses and even more abnormal patients. But I had triumphs as well. Clamping a splenic artery in the back of an ambulance, cranial trepanation with a portable drill at the bottom of a cliff, restarting the heart of a woman would had fallen on glass and in my rush to ease her pain had nearly killed her with morphine.

There were other memories as well, and as those that some might call pleasant rushed into my head, I flipped the hot water tap to OFF and doused them away with a gush of cold water. "Arghhh!"I shouted as frigid water did the job and those thoughts fled away like ghosts before the sunlight.

But one stuck – Louisa. There was no help for it. But with all that happened between us… I had to leave. I rolled the dice and they had fallen such that I was again a surgeon – now Head of Vascular Surgery at Imperial College, London. That was the buoy that I clung to like a drowning man in the ocean – an ocean of my own making.

I dried myself, shaved (avoiding my eyes in the mirror – knowing I'd not like what I saw there) then my suit and tie fell into place as if they knew the route themselves.

Breakfast followed – an egg, toast and jam, juice - then coffee. I'd eaten the food quickly and took my coffee onto the terrace and gazed on a Portwenn morning one final time. _True, Ellingham? One final time?_

"We shall see," I answered that niggling internal voice.

Down in the Platt at the base of the harbor figures were preparing stalls, the portable merry-go-round was being tested, and faint voices wafted up to the cottage. Harbor Day – Portwenn's annual bacchanalia to celebrate - just what exactly? No one actually remembered. If it had any real significance at one time it had been forgotten long ago. Local legend said that even in wartime they'd held it, although the old people still argued whether or not the precious ration points should have been used for a party. I suspected there was plenty of moonshine then just as now, although it had been a while since I had to treat victims of the local brew.

I stopped that thought as I downed the last of the coffee. Not my problem anymore. They can bloody well go to Wadebridge or wait until Monday! I was done. Doc Martin was finished.

I washed my dishes and the pot I'd boiled the egg in and packed them. I disinfected the table and was reminded of Al and Pauline snogging away on this table. God, they acted like teenagers! _But Ellingham, didn't you snogg Louisa right here too!_

"Yeah. And suffered a horrible hangover for my trouble."

I heard the front door open and someone walked into the waiting room. I was flabbergasted to see Pauline. "Pauline, what are you doing here?"

She stood straight and tall and looked me square in the eye. "I came to get things squared away – organized! Have to do things properly for the new GP. Don't want 'em to think we're tossers, that is that you were one… or me."

I held up my hands. "Stop! I see." I got out of her way.

Shortly the removal vans arrived and two men came barging in and sized up the boxes, the furniture and me. I was uncomfortable under their gaze. They were both short – one thin and the other gone to fat.

"You're the doc?" asked the thinner one with hair.

"Well yes. No, that is…erh, I was…"

Pauline butted in. "This is Doctor Ellingham and he was the GP here. The new doc starts on Monday, so don't you be messing up any floors, walls, or doors for 'em. Hear?"

I nodded to Pauline. This was a side of her I'd not seen often.

"Doc, you just have to know how to handle people." She then smiled and patted my arm.

That stopped the men so they traded looks and got to shifting the downstairs furniture. As they were taking my desk from the examination room, I upbraided them to have a care with it going through doorways as they had already made numerous collisions between my belongings and door frames.

The one carrying the fore end gave me a hard look. "Doc, when you have a patient with headache and sore throat, do you ask us for advice? Do we stand around and tell you how to do your job? Let us get on and do what we do best!"

Suitably reprimanded, I turned my attention to Pauline. "What are you doing?"

"I am organizing the files and building up a profile; so we get a decent level of feedback patient to doctor."

"Well, is that needed?"

"Where's your desk?" she asked.

"In the removal van." Why was she asking about furniture?

"And where's my desk?"

"Right here." Too obvious. What was she playing at?

"Exactly, so shush." With that she dismissed her former employer.

The movers worked on until the building was nearly bare. One of the movers, the fat bald one, came back inside. "Almost done. Something I wanted to talk to you about, before we left."

"What?" I said, irritated. I wanted to have these two finish packing the vans, while I went to the village and paid off outstanding accounts.

"It's uhm… medical."

Pauline helped me. "He's finished. Come back _Monday_ or head over to Wadebridge."

I squared my shoulders. Perhaps _this_ was the last patient and I'd not let Pauline boss me about the way Edith had. I motioned to the man. "Fine, come through."

He shuffled into the examining room ahead of me.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

The man jabbered on about how he was married, his wife was pregnant, and he really wanted to see the child grow up, and he knew it was bad, and he was a young man… Then he held out his left arm, where a three centimeter raised bump with a glossy and red surface was visible on the dorsal aspect of his wrist, at the junction of the radius and scaphoid bones. I took his hand and prodded the lump. It was soft, almost mobile, and clearly fluid filled.

My attention set him off some more. "It's bad isn't it? I know it has to be cancer!" he blubbered in a rising panic.

I bent down and raised a thick medical textbook from an open box. It was Kroegman's "_Treatment of Musculo-Skeletal System Disorders._

The man started to shout. "Oh, bloody hell! You know it's bad when even the doctor has to look it up!"

I rendered my diagnosis. "It's a ganglion – a cyst of the joint." I hefted the book I held in my right hand. The man likely needed surgery but the old method should work – the so-called bible treatment. "Hold your hand up," I commanded.

The man did as he was told. I swung the book from overhead aiming for the bump. I was rewarded by a yell after impact.

"Owww!" The man bent over in pain cradling the arm after I struck his wrist.

"Let me see." He raised it and I palpated the wrist, where the lump was now magically gone. The impact had ruptured the walls of the cyst and dramatically drained the contents into the synovial vaults.

The man's eyes bugged out at as he saw the lump was now gone.

I nodded my head and dropped the book back into the open box. "There are two more boxes in this room." I turned on my heel and walked out. _That_ was my last patient.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44 – Exit Stage Right

The movers were working on the pile of my belongings outside the cottage (fortunately it was not raining) as I set off for the village to pay outstanding bills. As I walked past Al and Bert's restaurant I resolved to keep a professional demeanor for this last trip into town. I resolved not to discuss any personal or medical issues with anyone. I'd bolt in pay the bills and get out. The movers were already whinging how there were far more book cartons than they had planned on, and they were tired, it was later then they thought, the lunch they bought at Large's didn't set well with them and so on. All the usual blather of workers who do not wish to work. I was very certain they'd much rather be lifting a brew in the pub watching football than making an honest day's wage.

I shook my head at them as they complained more about my boxes of books. "Not my problem!" I bellowed at them and walked away.

That thought brought me up short. It was nearly the very thing that Louisa had told me two months ago when she returned to Portwenn, her projecting pregnancy telling the tale of our success, as unwitting as it was, in conceiving a child.

If only I'd been able to reach Louisa – really talk to her – without our blasted stubborn pride getting in the way. Yes that must be it. I'd been searching for a word to describe our many difficulties. Pride was certainly near the top of the list. Along with being stubborn and in my case, shyness. Too many times over the past years I wished to see Louisa, speak to her, and tell her what I wanted in our relationship. I sighed at the failure of my hidden shy nature to burst out of the shell I had to construct carefully over the years. That shell of armor I worked on very hard from the time I was a small boy.

My parents, here a sneer came to my face much harsher than usual, the selfish rotten excuses for human beings that they were. Not one word of praise, certainly no love either from them, and plenty of neglect. The wretched public schools and the teasing there I had to endure was far too routine from both students and teachers. It was only through study and excellence in courses had I been able to withstand life. Even medical school was a trial of work and jealousy. Until Edith came to my side.

I was ill-prepared to deal with Edith then, but all these years later I finally was able to stand up for myself before her. I laughed aloud, making two passers-by give me an odd look. _And it wasn't the way she expected or wanted was it? _my internal voice commented. Well if Edith thought she could swoop into London and boss me into a sexual relationship she was mistaken.

I pulled out my mobile and flipped the cover open, thumbing the number directory. With ease I scrolled to her name. The tiny cursor lit it up the text in bold print on the white screen. I tapped the screen and the selection menu appeared.

DELETE THIS ENTRY? read the prompt.

No. I'd not delete the number. There might be a patient I needed to refer to her. My index finger made another choice.

DELETE RAPID DIAL?

Yes, I selected, and the phone did my bidding. At least I'd have to key or select the entire number. I pocketed the mobile and stepped into the Pharmacy.

Mrs. Tishell gave me an effusive welcome – too much so.

"Well, I uhm, needed to see you before I left." She smiled. "I have an outstanding bill to settle."

She lit up a bit less at the last. "Oh yes of course!" Sally pulled out her accounts book, opened it, and showed me the amount. "So London? Must be nice," she added.

I bent over the cheque book and tuned her out. Mrs. Tishell, though married, had some odd fascination with me. She fancied herself somewhat of a romantic, I suppose, based on our encounters. I just wanted to pay the bill and get on.

"Of course, not so much fun by yourself. I need _someone_… to invite me?"

I looked up from my writing. "Fourteenth isn't it?"

She nodded and her face fell. "Well, I know you'll probably be embarrassed by this… but I got you a little farewell gift."

I tried to keep my tone even as I answered. "Ahm. That's generous."

She turned and brought back to the counter a large clothing carton. "Just a little something I knocked up." She peeled back tissue paper and took out something large, yellow, and monstrous and held it up. "It's a jumper."

What the devil? "Ah."

"It says 'Martin' on it!"

She had stitched my name in huge black block letters across it. It was positively hideous. "Yes."

She played her hand across the letters. "Martinnnnn," she said drawing out the word.

"Ah, uhmm… thank you." I put out a hand to take it and she swiftly bolted around the counter and thrust her arms about me. I reared back as the smitten woman pulled me into a tight clinch. Then her hand grabbed my head and forced it down where she planted a gooey kiss onto my lips.

I forced myself away from the woman and blundered away.

"Goodbye, Marty!" she shouted after me as I escaped from her clutches and the Pharmacy.

As I made my way up to the Farmer's Store my heart slowed from the panic it felt and I shook my head just thinking of Sally Tishell. Given the loutishness of her husband, who I had to treat for hearing loss from mastitis, I could understand her ardor yet I shuddered at the thought of the hug and kiss from the woman! Yeccch!

At the Farmer's Store I kept my exchange with the shop keeper short and to the point. I wrote a cheque, handed it to her and walked away, even though she tried to ply me with questions about London, the new GP, and Louisa and her baby.

"Well, but it is your baby too, isn't it?" she went on at the door.

"Yes. Goodbye." I took a step into the street and there was one of Louisa's teachers, Tasha, I think. She was herding children in silly cowboy costumes from the school. She did not look fit as she sagged against a pillar after staggering up the stair.

I rushed to her. "Alright? You don't look well."

She looked up at me blearily. "Oh, yeahhh," she slurred. "Everything's great! Do you know what the average attention span of a school child is? Can you imagine how difficult it is to teach even the most _basic_ of dance routines to children? It's like explaining algebra to a goldfish."

"You're slurring your speech. Have you been drinking?"

"No, never touch it." She was taking deep inspirations through her nose, most odd.

"Feeling light headed or dizzy?"

"No. It's nothing." She ran a hand over her face. "I've always suffered from low blood pressure if you must know. Part of a burden to bear… it's not easy being an artiste in this town."

"If your symptoms persist you should see a doctor. If fact… just make an appointment with the new doctor!"

"I guess you have my word, I'll do that then." She set off pushing the children before her.

I suppose they were some sort of dance thing for Harbor Day. Likely to be ghastly.

"Come on kids! Come on my lovelies," she called to them.

"What's that you've got there?"

I was still holding the giant yellow jumper from Mrs. Tishell. The speaker was the same tiny girl who had bothered me at the school yesterday. Today she wore a silly straw hat and peered up at me like an animal in the zoo. She continued to badger me in the same way that some old persons and dogs have a way of sinking their teeth in and not letting go. After a short exchange I set my teeth and told her straight off. "Go away."

She went after her classmates and I was only too glad to see her leave. Fitting that my last real exchange in Portwenn would be with a snotty brat.

I stood there holding the silly jumper from Mrs. Tishell and saw my Aunt Joan's truck pull out and stop down the street by the Post Office Store. I wondered what she was doing here. We'd said our goodbyes, such as they were, last evening.

0000000

I'd got a call from Tasha's Tommy that he was on his way and we arranged he'd pick me up by the school. I nervously looked at my watch as he was a little late when Joan Norton drove up. Her sunny smile was refreshing to see on the day that Martin Ellingham, her nephew and the co-creator of this lump of biology I was carrying about in my uterus, was leaving Portwenn for good.

So much for my plan to come back to Portwenn two months back and ask for his help with this little package. I thought he'd be pleased about the baby. Of course I was embarrassed for not telling him months before, but my sorrow and shyness – and my independent streak got in our way.

"Everything alright?" Joan asked.

No, Joan, not alright. Martin is leaving and I'm on my own. I lied to her. "I'm just waiting for a taxi. I've got a checkup at three."

"You should have said! You know I'd have been happy to give you a lift!"

"No…" what Joan said was true. Joan was almost giddy about the baby – her great-nephew and I was glad for that. But sometimes I felt a bit like a brood mare around Joan. Was she really helping me, or just her nephew and great-nephew to be? Shame on me for thinking that at times, but I did feel it. And I'm grateful. "But everything considered I need to start being more independent and looking after myself," I added.

Joan's lips twitched. "Well… if you do need anything…"

"Sure, thank you. Bye Joan." I could see vegetables in her truck so I was sure she had deliveries to make and here the poor woman was offering to forego her business for my sake. I stood there, looking at my watch and tapping my foot. Where was Tommy? I didn't want to be late. 

0000000

I made my way to the barber and paid him off as well as the petrol station where I had an account and the motor repair place. This route took me quite far about the village and I got back to the cottage as the movers seemed to be finished. I'd not see Joan's truck again, nor why she had stopped where she had. No matter.

One of the moving men was reading one of my books, while the other carried a load to the van, with my Medicine Buddha on top. I whisked the book from the fat one's hands and grabbed the Buddha before it could suffer harm. "I'll take that! It's valuable!"

"Hey! We are professionals you know," the one with hair yelled.

"Yeah, yeah." I tucked the Buddha into the rear seat and pulled the seatbelt across.

"Ready to hit the road then doc?"

"Yes," I sighed. "Let me take one last look – make sure I've not forgotten anything." I lifted the lid of the bin and dropped the yellow jumper inside. As I climbed the stairs to the cottage I heard music start up at Harbor Day.

I scanned the rooms, quickly, and if I was a more sentimental man I might have stayed longer. Pauline was gone now and the surgery was empty of my things. End of the road, then. I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

I looked out over the village of Portwenn and resolved to leave all my failures here. I'd not let them or any regrets drag me into the depths. I watched the last carton go into one of the vans.

"We about ready then?" the mover asked.

As a boy I had day dreams about being on the stage. My terrace had served in some way but this play was now over. The curtain was about to come down. I looked down at my shoes then up. _Time to go, Martin._ "Yes… yes, we can go now." I locked the front door for the final time.

"Hey doc! Looks like someone wants to say goodbye to you." The mover smirked.

Here came Buddy, Auntie Joan's smelly little dog. "Oh, go away."

The animal ran to my feet and looked at me as if I was a giant sausage as his tail wagged about and his face open in delight. My disgust with the sight of Buddy turned into a sort of joy as Joan came huffing and puffing uphill as well.

"Oh, I'm glad I caught you. Not right… not right to leave without someone to wave you off. Bye Martin!"

I'd thought our supper last night was our goodbye, but I was pleased to see Aunt Joan all the same. Joan stepped close and held out her arms for a hug. I disdained physical forms of affection in public and for that matter was not much comfortable in private either.

I submitted to her embrace – the woman I once wished was my mother. I kept a straight face, my arms barely around her, and suffered her clinch with embarrassment. My biggest fear was that I would do or say something foolish. I also felt a tear forming in my eye. I released her and felt a sprinkle of warm liquid on my trouser leg. I looked down to see her filthy animal urinating on my shoe!

"Oh, god! Filthy animal!" I shook my foot, hoping not much had soaked in.

"Buddy!" yelled Joan. "Bad dog - bad dog!"

I hustled to the Lexus and belted in before something far worse happened. It was too fitting that as the removal vans drove away and I followed in their wake I smelled of dog pee. Farewell Portwenn, I thought. A fitting departure to the pain I had suffered, as well as caused here.

My mind, though, I set on the long way ahead to London. I drove down to the end of the road, just at the verge of the harbor, looked to the left and saw Tasha, Louisa's teacher, dancing in front of the kids I'd seen earlier. Seemed odd to me that the teacher was dancing with them, but I am no art critic.

I looked forward and saw the vans drive off, my departure not well heralded at all by the village. But perhaps the denizens of the village would see that _this_ Harbor Day was the day they were well rid of Doc Martin.

I looked to my left again, to see Tasha stop dancing, hold a hand to her head and collapse in a heap. I could not get the Lexus stopped fast enough so I could leap out to assist her.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45 – Omens

I barged my way through the crowd to get to the fallen woman. She was lying on her face, mostly.

PC Penhale was waving the crowd back and crouched down by me. "The dynamic duo – back together again, eh?"

I brushed Penhale aside and began my examination. The woman's skin was ashen, and she had shallow respirations. Pulse was slow and thready. This might be just the low blood pressure Tasha had told me of this morning. But her skin was not sweaty and she had fairly decent peripheral pulses.

"You had a nasty fall!" I told her. "She's got low blood pressure. Chair!" I commanded.

Penhale swung a chair towards me. "Not me. Her! Feet!"

"Oh, sorry, doc," answered our odd constable. He propped her feet on the chair which should improve her hemodynamics.

"I was dancing like I was an angel!" Tasha slurred as an answer. Once again it seemed to me that she was drunk or had chemical impairment. "Tommy says its stress. Says I take on too much…"

"Tommy? Tommy who?" A bulb flashed in my brain. "Tommy's Taxis?"

She grinned up at me with a silly grin. "Yeah… he's my hubby!"

I bore in with my diagnostic tools – my voice and brain. "Have you been getting headaches like him?" This sounded more like an organic poisoning.

Tasha nodded up at me. I questioned her closely if she had possible ingested solvents or cleaning agents, did she help her husband clean the taxis, or she might have ingested windscreen cleaner? I could tell she tried to answer but only babbles came from her mouth. This had to be poisoning of some sort and I said so. The symptoms were more akin to drunkenness but her report that she did not drink stuck with me. I did not smell any alcohol this morning or now.

"Pauline! Call an ambulance!" She worked at the task while I pondered what this might be and how did it tie in with Tommy's headaches? Those could not have been migraines. But what the devil was causing this?

"Will she be alright?" a little voice shouted. It was the tiny girl from yesterday and today. This must be her mum!

"She's suffered some sort of poisoning." I told her. "I need to determine what's causing it."

Alcohol was a poison. Could she have been drinking pure grain alcohol? Yet again I held to her statement that she had not been drinking and never drank. Plus her behavior this morning of fatigue and dizziness pointed to something else. Meanwhile her husband was suffering brutal headaches.

Al Large intruded into my concentration. "Doc… ah, would biofuel be a hazardous substance?"

"Yes, why?" I asked.

Bert rolled his eyes. "Don't shout at us, doc."

Al ducked his head sheepishly. "Dad and I were selling used chip oil to Tommy and his wife. They were making their own taxi fuel."

Bert added, "Saving a lot of money and helping the planet!"

I felt blood rush to my face as I shouted. "And stupidly ignoring the dangers of inhaling methanol fumes!"

I had read of the processing of diesel into biofuel by mixing it with used vegetable oil, or chip oil as Al called it. There were several careful steps that had to be done, and if not done properly, a fair percentage of the product was methanol. The fumes of such, especially if done in a confined space such as a shed or basement, could be deadly with sufficiently high dosages.

Bert blinked his heavy eyes at me. "You promised you wouldn't shout at us, doc."

"No, I didn't!" It struck me that Bert and Al were the local equivalent of Laurel and Hardy – always blundering into trouble – quite upset that they might be blamed. No help for it. I'd hold a class in biodiesel processing later. "Right! I need some alcohol!"

There were titters and a few giggles from the crowd. I could see Auntie Joan and she was one of the few not laughing. The look she had on her face was absorbed, concerned, and intent – much like mine.

The moment of sanity was broken by Joe Penhale. "Stay focused doc! But a cold beer would go down a treat!" The fool stood there grinning as he admonished me.

His silly look brought my anger to a head. Not only was this silly woman on the pavement from stupid activities I was getting advice from fools as well. "You idiot!" I screamed at Penhale. "The alcohol stops the body converting the alcohol to formaldehyde – which is the poison!"

Penhale's face fell and I realized that the new GP had better be a wizard or there will be bodies in the streets. My Aunt Joan's osteoporosis will go untreated, Penhale's agoraphobia will get worse, Pauline will start running the surgery her way with disastrous results, and Bert and Al will be running about destroying everything I had accomplished. The omens were terrible that Portwenn would quickly fall back into the medical disaster zone I'd found when I came here.

"Doc!" shouted Al. "We got some on the stand."

Bert lurched into action. "I'll get it."

"The purer the better!" I looked at up at Al. "Is her husband involved in making the biofuel?"

Al nodded. "Well Tommy told us not to tell anybody 'cause his competitors would find out… and then he couldn't _be the best and cheaper than the rest_!" He ducked his head and scratched his beard. "You know!"

Joan pushed her way through the crowd and yelled my name. "Marty! Louisa was waiting for a taxi to take her to hospital!"

My alarms went off. "What firm did she use?"

"I don't know! It might have been Tommy's Taxis!" Joan wrung her hands in worry.

I whipped out my mobile and rapid dialed.

Louisa's voice answered. "Hello?"

I was so relieved to hear her voice. "Louisa? Are you in a Tommy's Taxi?"

"What?"

"Are you in a Tommy's Taxi?" I nearly screamed at her.

"Yes, why?" she answered but I could barely make out her words.

"Get out of the car!" I screamed instructions at her. "You have to make Tommy pull to the side! Make him stop driving! He's been poisoned!"

I listened carefully and heard nothing. "Louisa? Louisa? Louisa!" I bellowed.

My mobile display showed the signal had gone and my heart sank into my shoes. Al slapped a bottle of vodka into my hand and I bent down to treat Tasha, my immediate patient. But my mind was out there – somewhere – in a speeding taxi.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46 – Stress

I answered my mobile. "Hello?"

It was Martin. "Louisa?" Martin shouted into my ear. "Are you in a Tommy's Taxi?"

"What?"

"Are you in a Tommy's Taxi?" He sounded _very_ upset.

"Yes, why?" I asked, but I could barely hear his words.

"Get o… buzzzz…." Was all I heard then the phone went dead.

"Hello? Hello?"

Tommy chimed in with "Damn things don't work out here." He waved at hand at the empty moor all around us. "Black spot."

I sighed. God knows what Martin wanted. I pressed the call back button on the phone but there was no signal. I pressed the button again with similar response. Tommy was right. I looked up to see Tommy put sunglasses onto his heavy face. That seemed odd as the sun was behind us.

0000000

I held the bottle of vodka Al had given me. It should work, but I had to get the alcohol into Tasha. An IV was out of the question. I had to change her blood chemistry, make her blood acidic, to prevent her from going into a coma. An NG tube was likely the best way and I had to be quick.

I pulled a metal probe from my medical kit, punched a hole through the metal cap and threaded an IV line into it. Inverting the bottle allowed contents to merrily leak out. This won't work! Now what?

Pauline, knowing just what I needed, handed me a wad of used chewing gum which I used to plug the gaps. Now the bottle wouldn't leak and the vodka would flow down the tube under gravity's pull. I threaded the tubing into Tasha's nose, managed to push it into her throat and down. When she gulped I could tell the tube was into her esophagus and not her trachea.

"Pauline! Hold this." I handed her the upside down bottle. "I want you to administer 25 milliliters every minute or so."

"Twenty-five milliliters," she said vaguely.

"About the same that you put into a gin and tonic." It was obvious she understood.

I grabbed a second bottle of vodka from Bert's stand and dashed to the Lexus.

I won't say that my driving was erratic, but it certainly was swift. The roads in and about Portwenn were not made for the speeds I was driving but I didn't care. As my car bore out of town I keyed the hands-free mobile in the car. A number popped up with Louisa's name above it and the electronics dialed.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Where are you?"

"Martin?"

"Where ARE YOU?" Just answer Louisa! "You're in that taxi!"

She cleared her throat. "Well… we're about halfway to the hospital."

"Where exactly?" I almost shouted.

0000000

"Ok. No need to snap!" Honestly Martin, you can be so damn…harsh. I got thumped by the baby. You weren't so harsh eight months ago, were you? "Ok. We're just gone past the old quarry. The quarry entrance is past the turnoff to St. Endelion."

I listened for another question, which was so Martin-like. The mobile was quiet though. "Martin? You there?" It was dead.

Tommy interrupted. "Something wrong, luv? Was that the Doc?"

"Yeah. But he didn't say _why_ he was asking _where_ we were."

"Why's Doc Martin want to know where we are?"

"Tommy, I have _no_ idea."

"Louisa, the man's a tosser! Why Tasha's been tellin' me… the way, he, uh, well…"

"Telling you what?"

"Oh, you know… just what people say."

"Oh." I didn't need to know what people said about Martin or even about me. "Tommy, just shut up!"

"Right, Louisa! Sorry. Didn't mean to say…" he stopped and cleared his throat. "Must be this bad headache I've got. Been deviling me all day – yesterday too."

"Sorry to hear that, Tommy."

"Thanks. Too much stress I guess. The business and the money. You know about that."

Stress – something I knew about. "I understand." Perfectly. "Yeah, I understand." My belly got hard and stayed that way for a few seconds.

000000

I heard Louisa's voice die off just as a large blue tractor suddenly pulled out from a side cut, the road was littered with them, and I had to swerve hard to avoid the thing. As I went round it, I heard the shattering of glass from the rear seat. The Lexus almost went off the road into a ditch but I pressed on.

My foot was nearly flat to the floor and the engine was roaring and the tires screaming in the turns. I had to go faster! I keyed the phone but got a null signal again. Louisa! God help me not to be too late!

0000000

Tommy was cranking his head from side to side. I found this very odd. Perhaps his headache was flaring.

He took his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Snowing! Why is it snowing?"

I thought he was joking. "No, it's not."

The windscreen wipers came on and Tommy said, "I can't see a bloody thing!"

We went along for a few seconds and I was wondering what to say or do. Tommy's head swung from side to side then drooped and his hands left the wheel.

"Oh, God! Tommy! Tommy?" I reached down and released my seat belt, scooted as far forward on the seat as I could, and stretched to grab the steering wheel over the seat back.

I've heard people say that in an accident, time seems to slow down. It was true - too true. I was aware of everything in super detail. And it all went so slowly. Tommy's foot was on the accelerator and the car just kept flying along faster and faster and this would not end well!

I had to pee and the baby squirmed down low and I felt heartburn surge. The neck of my dress was cutting into my skin and my shoes were too tight. I could feel the cloth of the seat back cut into my knees, pressing full against my belly and chest as I tried to straighten out the car. The steering wheel was slick from Tommy's sweat and I felt a jolt as we left the verge of the road as the tires crossed it. I fought to turn the wheel back to the left. But it was no good.

There was a boulder dead ahead and although my mouth screamed out Tommy's name the face that came to my mind was Martin's. I relaxed as we hit.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47 – Impact

The car flew around a bend, up a hill, then onto a bit of flat and up ahead I could see a car - blue - off the road on the right. It had to be Tommy's taxicab. And there was steam coming from it!

I braked rapidly and leapt out of the car screaming "Louisa!" I could see only one person and that was the driver! Oh my God!

The car had run off the road and smack into large boulder crumpling the entire front end in what must have been a brutal impact! "Louisa!" I yelled as I looked over the car again to confirm it held just one person, and that was Tommy.

Where _was_ Louisa? She said she was in this taxi but where was she now? To find the car wrecked was horrible enough but now she was missing! Had she been injured and wandered off? Was she even now lying behind a boulder or in a gully dying of an intra-cranial bleed? And what of the baby? My head whipped about in shock, despair, and confusion.

Just as I was about to lose my mind, Louisa's head popped up in front of the car, behind the very boulder it was resting against. "Louisa! What are you doing?" If anything had happened to her… God!

She smiled with embarrassment as she stood and pulled her dress down. "I needed a wee!"

"Are you alright?" My lord I was glad to see her standing! I almost broke down and swept her into a hug, but Tommy had to be my main concern just then.

"Yeah, I think so," she said. Her hair was mussed and she looked a bit white. "A bit shaken. But it's Tommy! He's breathing but I can't wake him up!"

I pried the driver's door open. At least Tommy wore his seat belt and the airbags had deployed which was good - so he got energy absorption in the crash. I looked hard at Louisa and I wished to examine her first, but Tommy was clearly in extremis. "Are you in any pain or discomfort at all?" I asked her.

"Well, I think Tommy's more urgent than me."

"Yes, yes, he is. But you're sure you're alright?" I noticed her pregnant belly was much lower than in the last few days. She must be, let's see now, thirty-six or thirty-seven weeks pregnant, if my calculations were right. So she was dropping.

"Yes," she said and mustered a tiny smile. "I told you _yes_."

Tommy's exam was similar to that of his wife but he was nearly totally unresponsive. He must be the primary biofuel producer so likely got a more severe dose of the methanol. That might explain his massive headache as well.

I looked around and could see no building or farmstead. No even a utility tower broke the landscape but for one lone mobile tower far away. "Where's the nearest pub?" I asked Louisa.

She gave me an odd look. "Shouldn't we be looking for a hospital?" She pointed towards Tommy as if to say _just look at the man!_

I shook my head. "No. His condition means he needs alcohol." I'd heard the vodka bottle smash itself during the wild ride so we were on our own. "As soon as possible." I looked hard at Louisa. "So do you know or don't you?"

"No!" she said and wore an expression like I was totally mad.

Have to rely on Pauline then, I realized. I called and asked about a pub, given our location five miles east of Portwenn.

After a moment's thought she gave me an answer. "There's the _Coach and Four_ a few miles up the road!" Pauline told me.

"Right. Call an ambulance and have them meet me there." I looked at Tommy who was now starting to writhe and I didn't like that at all. It meant his central nervous system was being affected more severely.

I dropped the phone into my breast pocket and pulled Tommy from the car where he fell on the turf like a half-filled sack of potatoes – arms and legs totally without rigor. This was going to be hard. The man likely weighed over eight stone. I took a deep breath, put my arms under his arms and around his fat chest, and began dragging him to my car.

"Martin, what's wrong with him?"

"He has methanol poisoning!" It was all I could do to grunt out the words as I tugged the man along and I wasn't doing very well. Occasionally I dropped his head on the ground which likely was doing his addled brain no good at all.

Louisa tried to bend down. "Let me give you a hand."

"No! No!" I waved her away. "Not in your condition!"

0000000

My condition? Yes, the obvious – I _was_ pregnant. I've been hearing that for months and it made me quite cross lately. All I wanted to do was to help Martin and poor Tommy but the man was treating me like I was made of china. "You're not exactly doing a good job of it yourself!" I shouted back. Martin was being less than effective as a stevedore, constantly dropping Tommy and bashing his head. I'm not certain Martin's grunting was helping the effort either.

"I can manage!" Martin yelled at me in frustration.

Manage? Martin manage?

_Well, Louisa, he did manage to save Peter Cronk's life and who knows how many others? He even managed to profess his love for you, after untold fits and starts, ask you to marry and make love to you! _I know, I answered into my mind. _He even managed to get you pregnant, and that has sure been a barrel of laughs, hasn't it? And he's even managed to overcome his blood problem so he can leave and go to London and be a surgeon again!_

As these thoughts flashed in my head, they almost made me laugh as I knew that I still…

_Still what? _asked that nagging voice once again.

Yeah. I knew. I _still_ respected Martin for what he had accomplished in Portwenn. Terrible and rude man that he could be, he was also - vulnerable. _And aren't you too girl? If only…_

And the impact he'd made on Portwenn! Certainly the general health of the village was better. And besides here he was playing ambulance for me and Tommy. Would old Doc Sims have done that? No. He'd not have stirred from the pub.

I watched Martin Ellingham former surgeon, and now former GP of Portwenn, struggle with all his might to haul the overweight Tommy to the Lexus. Martin's face was now flushed and his shirt beginning to show sweat marks but he succeeded.

The rear door flew open at his tug and the seat was awash in what looked like broken glass and fluid. Martin reached in without a word, pulled the seat belt off the gold Buddha there and slid it to the other side. There was a suit underneath it all, prickly with shards of glass and dripping with booze. He shook his head in disgust, heaved the suit out into the heather and levered Tommy's inert form into the car.

He smoothly belted him in then peeled open Tommy's eyelid for a look then took his pulse. He swore and looked up at me. "We'd better hurry."

We got in and he started to drive; quickly but also purposefully. He whipped the car about though a large puddle and I could hear things tear off the front of the bumper. Poor Lexus – damaged again.

Martin drove with a distracted face before he spoke to me. "You're sure you're alright? You'd say if you had any small aches or pains…"

"Martin, I'm not the one _you_ should be worrying about." Still, it was some small sign of interest. Although he did express concern _for my welfare_ yesterday. _Wait a minute, Louisa! He came to the moor looking for Tommy and you!_ Yeah… he did, didn't he?

But right then he got all frantic with me. "Louisa! You are heavily pregnant and you have been in a car accident!"

"Listen! Tommy's the one you should be concerned about!" I looked into the back seat where Tommy and sat with a glassy eyed stare. I felt tears come to my eyes. "What's gonna happen to him?"

Martin gripped the wheel tighter I could see as his knuckles whitened. "If he doesn't get the right treatment - acidosis, blindness, potentially death." He said it in a matter of fact way, yet tinged with solemn edges of medical doom.

I chewed my lips as I heard Martin speak so. Meanwhile a Braxton Hicks contraction started but this one made my back ache, unlike any I'd felt before. It quite took my breath away.

Probably nothing - probably nothing, I thought to myself. Should I mention it to Martin? No. Something else he need not worry about. It was nothing.

I set my face and held onto the door handle as Martin played Monte Carlo race driver while my back hurt like hell.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48 – Mistakes

"You have to drink it!" Martin screamed into Tommy's face as he forced vodka down his throat.

Tommy fought him off or tried to. Martin had dragged him into the _Coach and Four_, and berated the pub man as he screamed demands for vodka. Tommy was lucky he got this far considering how poorly Martin was able to handle his inert body. The man would be finding bumps and bruises for weeks after the way Martin had dropped him. I'd even accused Martin of doing it on purpose which surely set him off.

After a shouting match in the pub which Martin won in his usual mean way, he was now pouring liquor straight down his throat. Vodka – nasty stuff – I couldn't stand the stuff anymore. There was a time though, back in school it was all the rage. That is until I got into a drinking game one night with my mates and well, that adventure is best forgotten. But I haven't forgotten the dreadful mistake of drinking shot after shot that night. Poor Tommy is going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.

Tommy tried to push Martin away, turning his head while he gagged on the liquor. He was shouting. "No! No! Don't want to!"

That didn't stop Martin, though with his own unique bedside manner. "You've got to drink it!"

"I don't want to!" Tommy shouted back but he was very weak and Martin pressed on pouring it down his throat.

"You don't have any choice you selfish pig!" Martin added.

Thing were getting out of hand as the pub man caught my eye and he looked very scared. "Maybe you should calm down a little Martin," I said trying to pour oil on the waters.

Martin gave me harsh look. "It's idiots like this that think they can do what they want regardless of the consequences!" He sneered down at Tommy then shouted at me. "So long as they're saving money, leaving people like me to clean up their mess!"

That set me off. "He didn't know this was going to happen!"

Martin answered in his usual way. "He didn't think!"

That's when my fuse went and I saw red. "People make mistakes! People make a mess of things! It's called being human, Martin!"

He started to say something but now I was shouting at full. "Most of them learn from that – unlike some people!"

I opened my mouth to say more when the room swam a bit and I felt dizzy. "I _need_ a seat…"

What happened next changed everything.

0000000

Louisa was shouting at me and I really couldn't blame her. I was applying my own standards of perfection to Tommy and Tasha as well, but they weren't… like me. But who was? I was intelligent, a doctor, and I was… was… an arrogant bastard! There! I said it! Unlike my bloody father, though I could admit it, and that was the difference between me and my blasted progenitor. Maybe I could even benefit from the insight.

Tommy complained to me yesterday morning about his migraine and I _should_ have figured it out. I had failed as I allowed brusque methods to cloud my judgment and that put _him and his wife_ at risk. I looked up at Louisa and knew I was wrong again. Not two people! Four people – I had forgotten Louisa and her baby. Yes, _her_ baby. As much as I had tried to gloss over the fact, it _was her baby._

Louisa told me point blank the pregnancy wasn't my problem – she'd take care of it. It tore at me to admit it but of all the women I have ever known, Louisa Glasson, Head Teacher of Portwenn School, my former fiancée, and the woman I once loved will do just that. The world had better watch out for there was nothing that would stand in her way. She'd do quite well – she'd be a wonderful mother. I was proud of her for that future success and she would be so much better with me out of the way.

That was the right thing to do. Just get out of her way. Go to London and slice away on patients in a reboot of my old career. And every second of every day I will regret leaving Portwenn and especially her.

But I'd better think long and hard about my assumptions of right and wrong. On the medical front I'd almost killed four people and I would remember this lesson for a long time. If I sat down and made a list of all the mistakes I'd made in the last few months - _Oh stop it Ellingham, there isn't enough paper in the world for that list!_

Louisa's face was flushed, her eyes wide, and her words bounced around the low-ceiling taproom. Then she seemed to sway as I heard her softly say "I need a seat."

I sprang off the floor and grabbed a chair. "Here."

0000000

Martin ran over as I began to sit down by a table. But as I sat I fell three feet onto the floor! I screamed as my tailbone hit. "OWWWWW!" I rubbed my backside as I tried to stand.

God that hurt! "I'm fine, I'm fine," I said. But I wasn't! My back, belly, pelvis, everything down there clenched up and it felt like I'd put my finger into a light socket. "No, I'm NOT!"

Martin stood there holding the chair he'd pulled from under me. Oaf!

"Did you hurt your back?" he asked with a confused look.

I grabbed my sides and bent over the table, trying to hold it together. "Ahh! OWWW! The contractions have started!"

"Are you sure?" Martin asked.

"Of course I'm sure!" I got hit with another contraction. "Oww! OWW!" I staggered into the lounge and braced myself on the sofa there.

"Don't panic! Just stay calm!"

I gave Martin the dirtiest look there was as I yelled back. "Don't shout at me to stay calm!" I lowered myself onto the orange fabric and tried to find a comfortable position. "OWWW! Owww…" I whimpered.

Martin wrung his hands together and yelled at the pub owner. "We need a basin of some sort! Come on!" he waved his hands in panic.

Luckily the door opened and the paramedics came in right then. "Got a call about methanol poisoning?" asked the female member of the team.

I leaned back against the cushions and tried to catch my breath. At least help was here.


	49. Chapter 49

Chapter 49 – Changes

Martin immediately got in the way. He started shouted instructions to the paramedics and I could tell they didn't like it one bit. He pointed to Tommy, all glassy-eyed, propped at the base of the bar. "_He_ is relatively stable." Then he turned to me. "Now, ah, _she_ however is having a baby. Err, she's having her baby!"

"_Your baby!"_ I shouted back. There was no way that I'd let him off the hook, not while I was in waves of pain. _Your baby, Martin._ It's _yours_ – ours – it was your sperm – I meant to say, but another contraction clamped down and the world got fuzzy around the edges.

Martin ignored me and shouted at the ambulance staff. "I assume you have scissors and gloves in your bag? What we don't seem to have is any kind of sterile underlay!"

"We might have something." The ambulance man answered slowly.

"What do you mean, might! Might's no good! You either do or you don't!" Martin screamed at the man.

Ignored during Martin's shouting, I felt like my sides were going to burst but the woman paramedic came over and started an exam.

"Is this your first baby?" she asked sweetly and calmly.

Martin answered for me. "Yes, it is."

"Fit and well?" was her next question.

"Yes! She is!" yelled Martin impatiently and I gave him another dirty look. The nerve of the man!

"Don't worry," the woman went on coolly. "We'll get your baby out safely."

"Ok," I told her. Her face was calm and she smiled a lot which made me feel safe. My contractions were close together now but I got a pause once in a while so I could breathe.

She snapped on gloves. "I just need to feel where baby's head is."

"How far apart are the contractions?" butted in Martin.

"I don't know, they've just started," I told him. There were those odd things in the car on the way to the pub, did those count? Come to think of it, they were quite strong, but before I could say anything Martin started prying about once more.

"Any sensations of rectal pressure; the urge to push? Or anything?"

The paramedic rolled her eyes as I told him off. "Stop bombarding me with questions!"

"Louisa, it's important that we know what stage the labor is at!"

The paramed looked over her shoulder at rude Martin but she kept her voice calm. "We're just getting to that."

"Well, get to it QUICKER THEN!" shouted Martin in reply and I went ballistic.

"Alright!" I yelled at him. "Enough! Martin, I want YOU to WAIT OUTSIDE!"

He stood there with a shocked and hurt look. "What?"

I got nailed with another contraction as I tried to speak. "Owwww… I mean it." I managed to get out. "I really, really do! Ohhhh, ohhhh…" I faded into a whimper.

Martin Ellingham, MD stood there with the wind taken from his sails. "I'll… I'll be right… outside." He turned to the door casting backward glances, and I was only too glad to see him go. He was mucking _everything up_ the way he _always_ did. Typical Martin, all… owwww the pain made me stop thinking about him and concentrate only on breathing.

0000000

Louisa was throwing me out and if she could stand up and get at me I knew she'd be kicking my arse. Granted I was shouting but the ambulance people seemed to be doing nothing so far, and if anything happened to Louisa… or her baby… that idea made me choke and I couldn't get any air for a few seconds.

I told her I'd be outside, but I didn't want to be. I turned towards the pub owner for support but he gave me a cross look and I deserved that. No call for me to shout at Louisa especially when she was in labor. And her labor did not look or sound easy. I've read up on it, and Tasha's words came to me then. She'd said 'like explaining algebra to a goldfish' speaking about teaching dance to children. But labor and childbirth was as alien to me as, well, the Daleks I've heard Louisa speak of from that telly show.

The idea was unknowable and unexplainable, but I did understand pain relief. That was something the ambulance crew was completely ignoring. Surely Demerol would help her! But given the quick onset of her labor, likely from the car crash, they might want the baby to be born quickly so they could assess if the child had any problems. Pain relief might slow down the contractions - no, that would require an epidural to be most effective - no tools for that in this place.

For once there was nothing I could do. I had delivered Isobel's baby last fall on the hillside above the harbor, but her labor was well advanced when I got there. All I had to do was to literally catch the baby as it came out and make sure it started breathing. The woman must have been well dilated when she arrived in the village. Even the placenta came quickly and that came just as the ambulance arrived, heeding Louisa's phone call. I hadn't even had to cut the cord.

I turned to go back to Louisa. There must be something I could – should – do. She lay on the awful orange couch panting and grimacing. Perhaps I could hold her hand…

The other paramedic was kneeling by Tommy and he caught my eye. "Give us a hand with the patient?"

We manhandled the drunken fool outside and to the stone stairs. Tommy's legs were rubbery and it felt like moving a large octopus. The ambulance was parked just by my car fortunately. "I'll want you to monitor his progress carefully," I said. "Mortality rates of this condition…"

The medic gave me a stony look. He was taller and more fit than I was. "I know how to do my job," he told me coldly. "Bit of advice mate – the less you say, the better it is for everyone."

The look on his face told me that he just as soon punch in my nose than speak to me. I did as he told and silently helped him support Tommy and get him to the cot in the ambulance. There he put a blood pressure cuff on him and started taking vital signs.

I dusted off my hands and stood outside the pub hearing occasional sounds of distress some through the frosted glass of the closed door. They were varied but regular; grunting, groaning, moaning – a while gamut of painful sounds. Louisa was well into labor now. It wouldn't be long.

I crowded close to the door. "Put your knees up to your chest and spread them apart when you feel like pushing!" I bellowed so she could hear me.

Louisa answered right off in like manner. "Thank kew, Martin! I know that!"

"And make sure your head and neck are well supported!" I threw back at her.

"Yes, Martin!" she shouted.

I then heard very loud groaning and opened the door to see if I could help. I caught just a glimpse of Louisa.

"MARTIN! I told you to stay OUT!" she screeched all white faced.

I rapidly pulled the door to and stood there feeling low and quite at a loss. In a medical emergency I always knew what to do. I was certain I could help Louisa. But she didn't want me - didn't want me around. If she'd not taken a ride in Tommy's taxi I'd be well on my way to London. So no car accident for her and she could deliver her baby, my baby; no _our_ baby, in hospital in two or three weeks with sterile conditions, bright lights, soothing music, and support staff in abundance. Not in a grimy pub on the moor with two boobs for ambulance attendants.

In those few seconds it came to me that this was an important instant. My child was being born on the other side of this bloody door while I stood out here in the afternoon light like a stranger. My fiancée was in there, well former fiancée, laboring away to deliver a baby, pushing and grunting to get it out of her body while I stood helpless and alone.

Auntie Joan had yelled at me "Martin! Your idea of a family isn't even in the dictionary!"

My girl, the woman I once – no _still_ – loved was on the other side of this door delivering _our_ baby. The poor child deserved a better excuse for a family than mine or Louisa's. Maybe there was a chance to sort things. A chance to change things…

Louisa had shouted at me, "People make mistakes! People make a mess of things! It's called being human, Martin! Most of them learn from that – unlike _some_ people!"

Was I some people? Unable to learn? So damn arrogant that I was less than human or somehow thought I was above all the biology and emotions of humanity?

Three years back when Stewart the bodmin Forest Ranger had smashed the bird feeders in the village, Peter Cronk was blamed for it. Peter ran away but Mark Mylow and I found him by chance as he was hitching a lift to Exeter out on the moor. He was slightly hurt in the chase and I took him to school while his mother was fetched from her shop. Louisa stood over the two of us in the school corridor and dished out questions. "Why don't you stand up for yourself? Why do you just stand there and say nothing?" She could have been speaking to me – both then and now.

I'd stood up to Edith Montgomery when I left the hotel ending that relationship before it even started. I even told her I didn't want to be _with her_. She had not listened and I was truthful but not forceful enough.

I could change and I have. Portwenn had worked… its odd magic on me in strange ways.

More moaning came through the door and I winced to hear it. Louisa was without me in there and I didn't like it so. I _would_ learn from all the mistakes of the past year and more; I had to. Ebenezer Scrooge got a reprieve from his nasty nature. Why should I be any different?

Vicar Porter had me groveling in the muck examining his pig as the price to marry Louisa and me. He got me to admit that I didn't make her happy; I only cared for the way she made me feel. I'd only seen what she could give _me_ not what I should give her - things to do for her - things to _make her happy._

Another moan and hushed whispers came through the door. An important thing was happening behind the walls of this ancient pub and I stood out here like a flower or a weed.

The memory of the smashed taxi made me choke again. If anything had happened… back there to Louisa I'd never had forgiven myself. And that is when I knew what I had to do.

0000000

"Just push when I say," the woman told me. She was so kind and I didn't even know her name. "Everything's fine."

"Do you think I did the wrong thing?" I asked between pushes. "It is _his baby_ after all!"

"You can't worry about that now! There's more pressing matters! This baby's coming fast!" she said excitedly.

I didn't need her to tell me the baby was almost here; almost born. Early by a couple weeks, but close enough to term. All these months we've been together, just the two of us. But in a few minutes, we'd be two individual people; two people, but both needing the other. People needing the other…

I'd not heard any more shouted advice from Martin since I screeched at the man when he tried to come back in. He got the message and now he was staying away. _Damn it_ Louisa, he _is_ staying away, just as _you_ told him to.

"I'll take care of it Martin!" I told him two months back at his cottage. I'd wanted his arms around me, his lips on mine, and I wanted to be in his bed then. But Edith was there and that messed everything up. But if I'd asked who Edith really was right then and not assumed the worst, well… our two months of mutual hell might not have happened.

But Louisa, you later told Martin that you didn't need him for anything! You even assumed that he wasn't interested. Yet _he came_ dashing out to the moor to find you and Tommy. And if Martin hadn't found you in that mobile black spot what would you have done then? Hmm? With Tommy passed out and labor starting?

Then he tried to help you in the only way he knew. Yes, he was shouting – but he was panicking – and you fed into that as well. But he did keep asking if you were well. Asking about you – voicing his concern.

_Why did you come back to Portwenn?_ asked one of the villagers.

A job was the obvious answer, but I lied to her. Yes I needed a job, but I needed something far more difficult to obtain. Something you can't buy.

For all the help that Joan Norton gave you really wanted _only Martin_ to be helping you. For all of Joan's help, did she help you push Martin away? If he'd seen you needed help wouldn't he have given it, especially if you said the words? Asked him straight away?

When we parted yesterday I knew that was the end of the road for us. He'd be off in London, a townie and I'd be the country girl he left behind, along with a child who knew who his father only from once or twice-a-year visits. A hell of a life, Louisa. Is that what you want for this baby or for yourself?

In the school yard you wanted to tell him all this – all your worries and fears – and you couldn't. He had his new job and a new life in the making. But what was wrong with his three years in Portwenn? Weren't there good times then? A few - some; not as many as there should have been. And when things were good between you and Martin, wasn't those the best times of your life? Didn't he make you happy those days? That is what brought me back to Portwenn – him.

Why did you back out of the wedding, Louisa? Why didn't you tell him your worries? That he'd not be happy with you or you with him? That there would be things he'd need to change about himself? And… that you thought you weren't good enough for him. But on your list of things to change in him, why didn't you add the things you'd be willing to change _for_ him?

Louisa, don't be an Elizabeth Bennett. Don't keep Martin as Mr. Darcy. You can't keep living behind assumptions and confusion! Not now - not ever. Don't assume that doors are closed forever either. So why _did_ you come back to Portwenn?

"I've changed my mind!" I shouted at the paramedic.

"It's too late for that now. This baby is coming whether you want it to or not!" she answered.

"NO! I mean about himmm! Let him in!" I shouted at her and the door was pushed open.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50 – Home

I took the door knob in my sweaty hand, threw the door open and charged in, tripping a bit on the sill. Louisa looked up in amazement. The strain of her labors showed on her face and sweaty brow as she lay there on that awful orange sofa. Before she could yell at me again, words poured out of my mouth to her. "I know that you don't want me in here!" I said. "But I have to tell you… I was wrong…"

Louisa held out her right hand. "Please…" she whimpered and beckoned to me. "Come here… come here!" then she yelled out more. "Ahhhhh!"

I dropped to my knees at her side and my heart spilled out our faces inches apart. "I was wrong, about you… about leaving… about _everything_!" Then my heart nearly broke as tears came to my eyes and I couldn't breathe correctly, but I managed to choke out more words. "When I saw that _taxi_… I feared the _worst!_"

0000000

The contractions were killing me but from my last few minutes of hard pushing the little person was almost out. But what I really wanted, no _needed_, was Martin here with me! Surprisingly Martin barged in just I called out for him! What was he saying? _He was wrong? Martin Ellingham was wrong? My God, Louisa, miracles can happen! And the man was nearly crying!_

I howled, grabbed Martin's shoulders and pulled him to me. I put my mouth right on his for I don't know how long and it was the best thing I'd felt, for about nine months. It was the deepest kiss, and he responded, in history! Then I had to howl again in the grip of another contraction. "Ahhhhhhh!"

My arms were like steel clamps holding onto Martin as the contraction built and this was a huge one! OH MY GOD! "Ahhhhhhhh!" came out and things got very fuzzy, but I still had my hands clenched into his jacket. I threw him to and fro for a bit groaning with the effort of getting the baby out.

"I can see the head! You're doing great!" the paramedic told me as I shouted again.

"Push!" came her command. "Push!"

I took a deep breath, clamped my mouth shut and _pussshhheeeddddd._ I felt the baby shift measurably.

The paramedic smiled in support. "Again! Push – a big one!"

Again I tried to shift the baby and was rewarded with a little cry. Thank God! I breathed deep and felt a giant smile plaster itself across my face. I could see Martin's face spring into a faint surprise.

"Congratulations," said the paramedic. "It's a boy!"

My head fell back for a few seconds until I could speak. "A boy, it's a boy! Oh, yes…" The paramedic handed my son to me, and how amazing it was when she settled him into my arms!

"Martin…" I began to say lovingly as I held my son. This was the payoff – to have my baby and his father next to me! My little boy was alert and looking around, his little blue eyes open and gazing at me. His little head was gooey with fluid and blood but I loved him all the same.

Martin caught my eye. "Just a minute…" he said, jumped up and ran out the door.

I heard him vomiting away. I gave an apologetic look to the paramedic who had a startled look. "He has a little problem with blood." She took the baby, clamped and cut the cord, and gave him back. For that little while with the baby out of arms and Martin puking away outside I felt quite alone.

Martin came back saying, "Sorry about that…" as he knelt down by my side.

"Do you want to hold him?" I held _my son_ out to _his_ _father_.

0000000

In the background I heard the pop of a champagne cork and the splatter of fizzy liquid onto the floor. The pub owner was wasting no time to celebrate, even though he'd had nothing to do with the event.

Louisa looked up at me all dewy eyed and held my son out to me. "Do you want to hold him?"

Lord, I thought! "Uhm… no…" I stammered, "Of course not… I mean…" What did I mean? _Nervous, Ellingham? Damn straight!_ "He _is_ a baby. I might drop him or do something wrong… I'm not very good with babies."

Her lovely, tired face looked up at me eagerly. There was so much promise - so much love - in her look!

"You can learn!" she said.

Right as always Louisa, I realized. "Yes, yes, I could." I awkwardly took the baby from his mother and held him as I might a rugby ball with hands on either side. My son was small and wet, but his blue eyes were open and he looked at me as he waved a little arm about. This was my son! After a few seconds my courage was gone and I slowly gave him back to his mother feeling quite in shock.

Louisa expertly tucked him into the crook of her arm and rubbed his little hand. "Beautiful," she said. "Don't worry," cooed Louisa to our little boy. "You'll get used to him… eventually." She caressed him again tenderly.

I looked down at our boy held in his mother's arms and spewed out an observation. "Head's a bit misshapen."

Louisa rolled her eyes. "Martin…" she began to say in an irritated way.

"Pressure of the birth canal squeezes the plates of the skull together so they can pass through. Should rectify itself in six weeks or so. If not he might need a small procedure," I added.

0000000

I took the baby back from Martin and caressed his little hand and arm. Oh… he was lovely.

Then Martin just had to open his mouth. "Head's a bit misshapen," he said.

"Martin…" I said to warn him, but he nattered on.

"Should rectify itself in six weeks or so. If not he might need a small procedure," Martin finished.

I looked up at the wood beams above, with beige plaster between them, down to the paramedic who had a chagrined look on her face as she heard what Martin said. I wondered how many babies she's delivered. Eight, ten, twenty? Had any father ever said such a thing before?

I knew what the answer was. Only one – only one. Only Doctor Martin Ellingham would say such a thing. The father of my son and the man that I loved – only _he_ would say such a thing, I sighed. I pursed my face at his words.

I came back to Portwenn to have my baby in my village. I'd done that. But I actually came back to have Martin with me. And here he was.

The kiss I gave him just minutes ago was the best thing that I could have done. But there were things… we'd need to work on. _Both of you, Louisa! _That was a given.

I looked at Martin, his craggy face in his 'doctor look.' He was too bloody smart for his own good once in a while. I suppose I'll just have to teach him to temper his words and not just at me. But he could learn! He admitted that he could.

Martin saw the funny look I gave him. "What?" he asked not having a clue.

I'd been on a long journey. There were thrilling adventures and I had done amazing things. I'd suffered at the hands of dragons, witches, and nasty people, as well as felt discomfort, fear, anger, sadness and jealousy. But I'd also been given help, support, and understanding and at the very end _love._

Home is not just a place. Home is the safe haven we need at the end of the day with the ones that we love. I was home, warts and all, but a lot of good things too. I was _finally_ home at last.

My son cried just then so I soothed him as Martin crouched by my side.

THE END

**Author's notes: This tale took much longer than I thought it might to write, so thank you for reading along and hanging with me. Thank you also for all the nice reviews, many of which gave me further insight into the adventures of Louisa Glasson and Martin Ellingham in Doc Martin - Season 4. **

**I had a lot of fun filling in the blanks behind the scenes and inside the character's heads. Having written this story I now feel that I have satisfied many questions I had about this year of the series. If my story helped you in a similar way, I feel gratified.**

**Doc Martin is owned by Buffalo Pictures and I heartily thank them for unofficially permitting me to borrow the characters and locations of the TV production.**

**See you in Portwenn! **

_**Rob (aka robspace54)**_


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